


V 




y «. o 

3 * 0 ^ 

> 0 V O ^ 

-A * ^ 

^ . 

' V» 


cv 

* <<> 

{% ^ £ 


N C . 

*' ^O 


C, S> 

t? r<* O 

•* „v 

>. . V ft 

’’ / ,'"l < ’<» , ''“ &' , 

cF> s’sml' *+ ^ • 

s t&n! f//*2~ ■? ~y < 

‘ ^ V ° 

.. « 


'W 


^ i. 

* 3 * 0 ^ 

^ ^ A? , 


^ P \ U 

, 0 v> f# 

^ ^*°r *C' \> S'srJ '' 

% » *p ^ *, - A 

° ** •<* ; ji 

- 4 ‘ 


^ > 


0\ 


* «V ^ V'^’"^''*-^ ^ V 

<^< 6 * <► y o,x* A <L ** 

‘ 0? ^ ,B « ^ jA S C° N C * ^CL 

0 ^ an *<s 5 ^ynV^ ° 

-< K o - 

: ty^ 

y . ' Js>3 ~ ~ * oP c o *- V .- 

-», -V**" v X 

P ^ «'. <5r 

it ***# - 


1 B * 


<r 

'*1 -A 

* y 0 * 

X * A 

'V. 

'p 

/ 

' X. 

•< ^ 



•-? 


, « o 0 X 
.* ^ ^ 


* 3 “ 0 ’ ' * » \^ V ‘ ' sf s » '-rf - '> 

-N r V- tf> CJ, * ^ ^<<fesv <ft 

l ' v '* ,/ * r ‘ \Y> ** <■ c 

° <Pr> \V ° V 

z 

of ///V^JTV \\ VJ 19 

* aV 

v - ’ 


o CL ? ^ o 

* A ? ^ j 




R : 

r ‘.^ rt ? * * * 0 r ^> V , s 

^ C -, ^ -*P X 

O 
21 



A 

te <» 

•P- 

J& 

■X_ r* 

^ ' 

% 

$ 

f> - 

■A' 

<V 





. o O' 

" s 

'V%?^* .0° 

'••'* •> 5N A 0 ^ 

<* -v A » ^ <3 c 

<*• , * y ^ 



» % -. 

+ * A %/*, 

# x c° Nc */o 

\ 4 .^ - S 55 v \ Vt \^ ^ 



oT ^ ' V ^* •/* 

jv V ^ 

% % a •>’ A o 

|-* * r ,. ^y N ^ * o ^ 



^ ' . aV f « 5 ) *« ~* P . 


* cl ^ 

^ _ 'A ^ - 

#,* &*+ 


4 ' ' 



sH * 

. \V ^ 

A 0. 1 ci* J > 'Ajvs- <1 (\ 

, A * ^ ft 3 s o 0 v 

’ V> ',, > A° V » 



<* <1 ' 
- V 


,-0' 


x 0 ^. 



X> 


* „ -fc A ,0 V . 

°'\#V":/%V 

^ v v ^o 1 ; 

* <A ^ ^ 

%.^-' f\„, V»»»-’ f° „ 

?*°y <b v ^ *° * 

* -O > ^ 



t * 



• *V ° 

Y; V v > V /£✓" \\ V ^ r - , 

-•.V / » 


<A 

^ V 



•>* V 

oo 


« //h © 

: x \v v ' /• 

^ *> * ■* 

' s A° 1.1 • , "Vv y °* k * ^ 

V -’ * &/V >'???-: + -y a \ •*• c 

•«, 



V C 0 N C 



° ^ 0 ' < ’ *"# 

0 N o ■ \ o) f '* 8 I A * 

0 N -*> X * 0 . 



■y * 

V 

V *' ..s' «0 . , , , V. '“* 

\ o°' a 'L W 1 ^ 

-fe o* : ^ 

<A ^ 

t c o<-. ^ 



i0 


% s ' O . 1 ' V . pp 

/i-A ,,, /.r 



* CL ' 

r* 0 .=* 





-■ .V, ♦ 

° ^ ^ ; 

^ ^ ° 

- „V *' * 








THE NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


THE NEST 

OF THE 

SPARROWHAWK 

A ROMANCE OF THE XVIIth CENTURY 


BY 

THE BARONESS ORCZY 



NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 

(* 

-nn v . 



Copyright, 1909, by 
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 


All rights reserved 



CONTENTS 







* 




CONTENTS 

». 


I 












* 


4 






































- 









« ' 





THE NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 









The Nest of the Sparrowhawk 


PART I 
CHAPTER I 

THE HOUSE OF A KENTISH SQUIRE 

M aster hymn-of-praise busy folded 

his hands before him ere he spoke : 

“Nay! but I tell thee, woman, that the Lord hath 
no love for such frivolities ! and alack ! but J tis a 
sign of the times that an English Squire should 
favour such evil ways.” 

“ Evil ways ? The Lord love you Master Hymn- 
of-Praise, and pray do you call half an hour at the 
skittle alley 4 evil ways 5 ? ” 

44 Aye, evil it is to indulge our sinful bodies in 
such recreations as doth not tend to the glorification 
of the Lord and the sanctification of our immortal 
souls.” 

He who sermonized thus unctiously and with eyes 
fixed with stem disapproval on the buxom wench 
before him, was a man who had passed the meridian 
of life not altogether — it may be surmised — without 
having indulged in some recreations which had not 
always the sanctification of his own immortal soul 
for their primary object. The bulk of his figure 
testified that he was not averse to good cheer, and 


NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWR 


there was a certain hidden twinkle underlying the 
severe expression of his eyes as they rested on the 
pretty face and round figure of Mistress Charity that 
did not necessarily tend to the glorification of the 
Lord. 

Apparently, however, the admonitions of Master 
Hymn-of-Praise made but a scanty impression on 
the young girl’s mind, for she regarded him with 
a mixture of amusement and contempt as she 
shrugged her plump shoulders and said with sud- 
den irrelevance: 

44 Have you had your dinner yet, Master Busy? ” 

44 ’Tis sinful to address a single Christian person 
as if he or she were several,” retorted the man 
sharply. 44 But I’ll tell thee in confidence, Mistress, 
that I have not partaken of a single drop more com- 
forting than cold water the whole of to-day. Mis- 
tress de Chavasse mixed the sack-posset with her 
own hands this morning, and locked it in the cellar, 
of which she hath rigorously held the key. Ten 
minutes ago when she placed the bowl on this table, 
she called my attention to the fact that the de- 
lectable beverage came to within three inches of the 
brim. Me seems I shall have to seek for a less sus- 
picious, more Christian-spirited household, whereon 
to bestow in the near future my faithful services.” 

Hardly had Master Hymn-of-Praise finished 
speaking when he turned very sharply round and 
looked with renewed strenness — wholly untempered 
by a twinkle this time — in the direction whence he 
thought that a suppressed giggle had just come 


HOUSE OF A KENTISH SQUIRE 3 

to his ears. But what he saw must surely have 
completely reassured him ; there was no suggestion 
of unseemly ribaldry about the young lad who had 
been busy laying out the table with spoons and 
mugs, and was at this moment vigorously — some- 
what ostentatiously, perhaps — polishing a carved 
oak chair, bending to his task in a manner which 
fully accounted for the high colour in his cheeks. 

He had long, lanky hair of a pale straw-colour, 
a thin face and high cheek-bones, and was dressed — 
as was also Master Hymn-of-Praise Busy — in a 
dark purple doublet and knee breeches, all looking 
very much the worse for wear; the brown tags and 
buttons with which these garments had originally 
been roughly adorned were conspicuous in a great 
many places by their absence, whilst all those that 
remained were mere skeletons of their former selves. 

The plain collars and cuffs which relieved the dull 
color of the men’s doublets were of singularly coarse 
linen not beyond reproach as to cleanliness, and al- 
together innocent of starch; whilst the thick brown 
worsted stockings displayed many a hole through 
which the flesh peeped, and the shoes of roughly 
tanned leather were down at heel and worn through 
at the toes. 

Undoubtedly even in these days of more than 
primitive simplicity and of sober habiliments Mas- 
ter Hymn-of-Praise Busy, butler at Acol Court in 
the county of Kent, and his henchman, Master 
Courage Toogood, would have been conspicuous for 


4 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

the shabbiness and poverty of the livery which they 
wore. 

The hour was three in the afternoon. Outside a 
glorious July sun spread radiance and glow over 
an old-fashioned garden, over tall yew hedges, and 
fantastic forms of green birds and heads of beasts 
carefully cut and trimmed, over clumps of late roses 
and rough tangles of marguerites and potentillas, 
of stiff zinnias and rich-hued snapdragons. 

Through the open window came the sound of wood 
knocking against wood, of exclamations of annoy- 
ance or triumph as the game proceeded, and every 
now and then a ripple of prolonged laughter, girl- 
ish, fresh, pure as the fragrant air, clear as the 
last notes of the cuckoo before he speaks his final 
farewell to summer. 

Every time that echo of youth and gaiety pene- 
trated into the oak-raftered dining-room, Master 
Hymn-of-Praise Busy pursed his thick lips in dis- 
approval, whilst the younger man, had he dared, 
would no doubt have gone to the window, and lean- 
ing out as far as safety would permit would have 
tried to catch a glimpse of the skittle alley and of 
a light-coloured kirtle gleaming among the trees. 
But as it was he caught the older man’s stem eyes 
fixed reprovingly upon him, he desisted from his 
work of dusting and polishing, and, looking up to 
the heavy oak-beam above him, he said with be- 
coming fervour: 

“ Lord ! how beautifully thou dost speak, Master 
Busy!” 


HOUSE OF A KENTISH SQUIRE 5 

“ Get on with thy work, Master Courage,” re- 
torted the other relentlessly, “ and mix not thine 
unruly talk with the wise sayings of thy betters.” 

“ My work is done, Master.” 

“ Go fetch the pasties then, the quality will be in 
directly,” rejoined the other peremptorily, throw- 
ing a scrutinizing look at the table, whereon a some- 
what meagre collation of cherries, raspberries and 
gooseberries and a more generous bowl of sack-pos- 
set had been arranged by Mistress Charity and Mas- 
ter Courage under his own supervision. 

“ Doubtless, doubtless,” here interposed the young 
maid somewhat hurriedly, desirous perhaps of dis- 
tracting the grave butler’s attention from the mis- 
chievous oglings of the lad as he went out of the 
room, “ as you remark — hem — as thou remarkest 
this place of service is none to the liking of such 
as . . . these . . 

She threw him a coy glance from beneath well- 
grown lashes, which caused the saintly man to pass 
his tongue over his lips, an action which of a surety 
had not the desire for spiritual glory for its main- 
spring. With dainty hands Mistress Charity busied 
herself with the delicacies upon the table. She ad- 
justed a gooseberry which seemed inclined to tumble, 
and heaped up the currants into more graceful pyra- 
mids.. Womanlike, whilst her eyes apparently fol- 
lowed the motions of her hands they nevertheless 
took stock of Master H’ymn-of-Praise’s attitude with 
regard to herself. 

She knew that in defiance of my Lord Protector 


6 


NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


and all his Puritans she was looking her best this 
afternoon : though her kirtle was as threadbare as 
Master Courage’s breeches it was nevertheless just 
short enough to display to great advantage her 
neatly turned ankle and well-arched foot on which 
the thick stockings — well-darned — and shabby shoes 
sat not at all amiss. 

Her kerchief was neatly folded, white and slightly 
starched, her cuffs immaculately and primly turned 
back just above her round elbow and shapely arm. 

On the whole Mistress Charity was pleased with 
her own appearance. Sir Marmaduke de Chayasse 
and the mistress were seeing company this after- 
noon, and the neighbouring Kentish squires who 
had come to play skittles and to drink sack-posset 
might easily find a less welcome sight than that of 
the serving maid at Acol Court. 

“ As for myself,” now resumed Mistress Charity, 
after a slight pause, during which she had felt Mas- 
ter Busy’s admiring gaze fixed persistently upon 
her, “ as for myself, I’ll seek service with a lady less 
like to find such constant fault with a hard-working 
maid.” 

Master Courage had just returned carrying a 
large dish heaped up with delicious looking pasties 
fresh from the oven, brown and crisp with butter, 
and ornamented with sprigs of burrage which made 
them appear exceedingly tempting. 

Charity took the dish from the lad and heavy as 
it was she carried it to the table and placed it right 
in the very centre of it. She re-arranged the sprigs 


f 


HOUSE OF A KENTISH SQUIRE 7 

of burrage, made a fresh disposition of the baskets 
of fruit, whilst both the men watched her open- 
mouthed, agape at so much loveliness and grace. 

“ And,” she added significantly, looking with ill- 
concealed covetousness at the succulent pasties, 
“ where there’s at least one dog or cat about the 
place.” 

“ I knew not, Mistress,” said Hymn-of-Praise, 
“ that thou wast over-fond of domestic pets 
’Tis sinful to . . .” 

“ La ! Master Busy, you . . . hem 

thou mistakest my meaning. I have no love for such 
creatures — but without so much as a kitten about 
the house, prithee how am I to account to my Mis- 
tress for the pasties and . . . and comfits . . . 

not to speak of breakages.” 

“ There is always Master Courage,” suggested 
Hymn-of-Praise, with a movement of the left eye- 
lid which in the case of any one less saintly might 
have been described as a sly wink. 

“That there is not,” interrupted the lad decisively ; 
“ my stomach rebels against comfits, and sack-pos- 
set could never be laid to my door.” 

“ I give thee assurance, Master Busy,” concluded 
the young girl, “ that the county of Kent no longer 
suits my constitution. ’Tis London for me, and 
thither will I go next year.” 

“ ’Tis a den of wickedness,” commented Busy sen- 
tentiously, “ in spite of my Lord Protector who of 
a truth doth turn his back on the Saints and hath 
even allowed the great George Fox and some of 


8 


NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


the Friends to languish in prison, whilst profligacy 
holds undisputed sway. Master Courage, meseems 
those mugs need washing a second time,” he added, 
with sudden irrelevance. 44 Take them to the kitchen, 
and do not let me set eyes on thee until they shine 
like pieces of new silver.” 

Master Courage would have either resisted the 
order altogether, or at any rate argued the point 
of the cleanliness of the mugs, had he dared: but the 
saintly man possessed on occasions a heavy hand, 
and he also wore boots which had very hard toes, 
and the lad realised from the peremptory look in 
the butler’s eyes that this was an occasion when 
both hand and boot would serve to emphasize Mas- 
ter Busy’s orders with unpleasant force if he him- 
self were at all slow to obey. 

He tried to catch Charity’s eye, but was made 
aware once more of the eternal truth that women 
are perverse and fickle creatures, for she would not 
look at him, and seemed absorbed in the re-arrange- 
ment of her kerchief. 

With a deep sigh which should have spoken vol- 
umes to her adamantine heart, Courage gathered all 
the mugs together by their handles, and reluctantly 
marched out of the room once more. 

Hymn-of-Praise Busy waited a moment or two 
until the clattering of the pewter died away in the 
'distance, then he edged a little closer to the table 
whereat Mistress Charity seemed still very busy with 
the fruit, and said haltingly: 

44 Didst thou really wish to go, Mistress . 


HOUSE OF A KENTISH SQUIRE 9 

to leave they fond, adoring Hymn-of-Praise . 
to go, Mistress? . . . and to break my heart? ” 

Charity’s dainty head — with its tiny velvet cap 
edged with lawn which hardly concealed sufficiently 
the wealth of her unruly brown hair — sank medita- 
tively upon her left shoulder. 

“ Lord, Master Busy,” she said demurely, 44 how 
was a poor maid to know that you mean it earn- 
estly? ” 

“ Meant it earnestly ? ” 

“ Yes ... a new kirtle ... a gold 
ring . . . flowers . . . and sack-posset and 

pasties to all the guests,” she explained. 44 Is that 
what you mean . . . hem . . . what thou 
meanest, Master Busy?” 

44 Of a surety, Mistress . . . and if thou 
wouldst allow me to . . . to . . .” 

44 To what, Master Busy.” , 

44 To salute thee,” said the saintly man, with a 
becoming blush, 44 as the Lord doth allow his crea- 
tures to salute one another . . . with a chaste 
kiss, mistress.” 

Then as she seemed to demur, he added by way 
of persuasion: 

44 I am not altogether a poor man, mistress ; and 
there is that in my coffer upstairs put by as would 
please thee in the future.” 

44 Nay ! I was not thinking of the money, Master 
Busy,” said this daughter of Eve coyly as she held 
a rosy cheek out in the direction of the righteous 


man. 


10 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


’Tis the duty even of a veracious chronicler to 
draw a discreet veil over certain scenes full of bliss- 
ful moments for those whom he portrays. 

There are no data extant as to what occurred 
during the next few seconds in the old oak-beamed 
dining-room of Acol Court in the Island of Thanet. 
Certain it is that when next we get a peep at Mas- 
ter Hymn-of-Praise Busy and Mistress Charity 
Haggett, they are standing side by side, he looking 
somewhat shame-faced in the midst of his obvious 
joy, and she supremely unconcerned, once more 
absorbed in the apparently never-ending adornment 
of the refreshment table. 

44 Thou’lt have no cause to regret this, Mistress,” 
said Master Busy complacently, “ we will be mar- 
ried this very autumn, and I have it in my mind — 
an it please the Lord — to go up to London and 
take secret service under my Lord Protector him- 
self.” 

44 Secret service, Master Busy. . . . hem. 

I mean Hymn-of-Praise, dear, 
secret .service? . . . Whay may that be? ” 

44 ’Tis a noble business, Charity,” he replied, 44 and 
one highly commended by the Lord: the business of 
tracking the wicked to their lair, of discovering evil 
where ’tis hidden in dark places, conspiracies against 
my Lord Protector, adherence to the cause of the 
banished tyrants and . . . and ... so 

forth.” 

44 Sounds like spying to me,” she remarked curtly. 

44 Spying? . . . Spying didst thou say?” 


HOUSE OF A KENTISH SQUIRE 11 

he exclaimed indignantly. 44 Fie on thee, Charity, 
for the thought. Secret service under my Lord 
Protector ’tis called, and a highly lucrative business 
too, and one for which I have remarkable aptitude.” 

“ Indeed? ” 

44 Aye ! See the manner in which I find things out, 
Mistress. This house now . . . thou wouldst 

think ’tis but an ordinary house * . . eh? ” 

His manner changed : the saintliness vanished from 
his attitude : the expression of his face became sly and 
knowing. He came nearer to Charity, took hold of 
her wrist, whilst he raised one finger to his lips. 

44 Thou wouldst think ’tis an ordinard house . . . 
wouldst thou not ? ” he repeated, sinking his 
voice to a whisper, murmuring right into her ear so 
that this breath blew her hair about causing it to 
tickle her cheek. 

She shuddered with apprehension. His manner 
was so mysterious. 

44 Yes . . . yes . . . ” she murmured, 

terrified. 

44 But I tell thee that there’s something going on,” 
he added significantly. 

44 La, Master Busy . . . you 

you terrify me!” she said on the verge of tears. 
44 What could there be going on ? ” 

Master Busy raised both his hands and with the 
right began counting off the fingers of the left. 

44 Firstly,” he began solemnly, 44 there’s an heir- 
ess ! secondly our master — poor as a church mouse — 
thirdly a young scholar — secretary they call him, 


12 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


though he writes no letters, and is all day absorbed 
in his studies. . . . Well, Mistress,” he con- 

cluded turning a triumphant gaze on her, 44 tell me, 
prithee, what happens.” 

44 What happens, Master Hymn-of-Praise? . . . 
I do not understand. What does happen ? ” 

44 I’ll tell thee,” he replied sententiously, 44 when I 
have found out; but mark my words, Mistress, there’s 
something going on in this house. . . . Hush ! 

not a word to that young jackanapes,” he added as 
a distant clatter of pewter mugs announced the ap- 
proach of Master Courage. 44 Watch with me, Mis- 
tress, thou’ll perceive something. And when I have 
found out, ’twill be the beginning of our fortunes.” 

Once more he placed a warning finger on his lips : 
once more he gave Mistress Charity a knowing wink, 
and her wrist an admonitory pressure, then he re- 
sumed his staid and severe manner, his saintly mien 
and somewhat nasal tones, as from the gay outside 
world beyond the window-embrasure the sound of 
many voices, the ripple of young laughter, the clink 
of heeled boots on the stone-flagged path proclaimed 
the arrival of the quality. 


CHAPTER II 


ON A JULY AFTERNOON 

I N the meanwhile in a remote corner of the park 
the quality was assembled round the skittle- 
alley. 

Imagine Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse standing 
there, as stiff a Roundhead as ever upheld my Lord 
Protector and his Puritanic government in this 
remote corner of the county of Kent : dour in manner, 
harsh featured and hollow-eyed, dressed in dark 
doublet and breeches wholly void of tags, ribbons or 
buttons. His closely shorn head is flat at the back, 
square in front, his clean-shaven lips though some- 
waht thick are always held tightly pressed together. 
Not far from him sits on a rough wooden seat, Mis- 
tress Amelia Editha de Chavasse, widow of Sir Mar- 
maduke’s elder brother, a good-looking woman still, 
save for the look of discontent, almost of suppressed 
rebellion apparent in the perpetual dark frown be- 
tween the straight brows, in the downward curve of 
the well-chiselled mouth, and in the lowering look 
which seems to dwell for ever in the handsome dark 
eyes. 

Dame Harrison too was there : the large and portly 
dowager, florid of face, dictatorial in manner, dressed 
in the supremely unbecoming style prevalent at the 
moment when everything that was beautiful in art 
13 


U NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


as well as in nature was condemned as sinful and un- 
godly: she wore the dark kirtle and plain, ungainly 
bodice with its hard white kerchief folded over her 
ample bosom: her hair was parted down the middle 
and brushed smoothly and flatly to her ears, where 
but a few curls were allowed to escape with well-regu- 
lated primness from beneath the horn-comb : and the 
whole appearance of her looked almost grotesque, 
surmounted as it was by the modish high-peaked 
beaver hat: a marvel of hideousness and discomfort, 
since the small brim afforded no protection against 
the sun, and the tall crown was a ready prey to the 
buffetings of the wind. 

Mistress Fairsoul Pyncheon too was there, the wife 
of the Squire of Ashe; thin and small, a contrast to 
Dame Harrison in her mild and somewhat fussy man- 
ner; her plain petticoat too was embellished with 
paniers, and in spite of the heat of the day she wore 
a tippet edged with fur: both of which frivolous 
adornments had obviously stirred up the wrath of her 
more Puritanical neighbour. 

Then there were the men : busy at this moment with 
hurling wooden balls along the alley, at the further 
end of which a hollow-eyed scraggy youth, in shirt 
and rough linen trousers was employed in propping 
up again the fallen nine-pins. Squire John Boat- 
field had ridden over from Eastry, Sir Timothy Har- 
rison had come in his aunt’s coach, and young Squire 
Pyncheon with hit doting mother. 

And in the midst of all these sober folk, of young 
men in severe garments, of portly dames and frown- 


ON A JULY AFTERNOON 


15 


ing squires, a girlish figure, young, alert, vigorous, 
wearing with the charm of her own youth and fresh- 
ness the unbecoming attire, which disfigured her 
elders yet seemed to set off her own graceful form, 
her dainty bosom and pretty arms. Her kirtle too 
was plain, and dull in colour, of a soft dove-like grey 
without adornment of any kind, but round her 
shoulders her kerchief was daintily turned, edged 
with delicate lace, and showing through its filmy 
fold peeps of her own creamy skin. 

’Twas years later that Sir Peter Lely painted 
Lady Sue when she was a great lady and the friend 
of the Queen : she was beautiful then, in the ' full 
splendour of her maturer charms, but never so beau- 
tiful as she was on that hot July afternoon in the 
year of the Lord 1657, when, heated with the ardour 
of the game, pleased undoubtedly with the adulation 
which surrounded her on every side, she laughed and 
chatted with the men, teased the women, her cheeks 
aglow, her eyes bright, her brown hair — persistently 
unruly — flying in thick curls over her neck and 
shoulders. 

“ A remarkable talent, good Sir Marmaduke,” 
Dame Harrison was saying to her host, as she cast a 
complacent eye on her nephew, who had just suc- 
ceeded in overthrowing three nine-pins at one stroke : 
“ Sir Timothy hath every aptitude for outdoor pur- 
suits, and though my Lord Protector deems all such 
recreations sinful yet do I think that they tend to the 
development of muscular energy, which later on may 
be placed at the service of the Commonwealth.” 


16 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


Sir Timothy Harrison at this juncture had the 
misfortune of expending his muscular energy in hit- 
ting Squire Roatfield violently on the shin with an 
ill-aimed ball. 

“Damn!” ejaculated the latter, heedless of the 
strict fines imposed by my Lord Protector on un- 
seemly language. “ I . . verily beg the 

ladies’ pardon . . . but . . .1 this 
young jackanapes nearly broke my shin-bone.” 

There certainly had been an exclamation of horror 
on the part of the ladies at Squire Boatfield’s forci- 
ble expression of annoyance, Dame Harrison taking 
no pains to conceal her disapproval. 

“ Horrid, coarse creature this neighbour of yours, 
good Sir Marmaduke,” she said with her usual air of 
decision. “ Meseems he is not fit company for your 
ward.” 

“ Dear Squire Boatfield,” sighed Mistress Pyn- 
cheon who was evidently disposed to be more lenient, 
“ how good-humouredly he bears it. Clumsy people 
should not be trusted in a skittle alley,” she added in 
a mild way, which seemed to be peculiarly exaspera- 
ting to Dame Harrison’s iracible temper. 

“ I pray you, Sir Timothy,” here interposed Lady 
Sue, trying to repress the laughter which would rise 
to her lips, “ forgive poor Squire John. You scarce 
can expect him to moderate his language under such 
provocation.” 

“ Oh ! his insults leave me completely indifferent,” 
said the young man with easy unconcern, “ his calling 
me a jackanapes doth not of necessity make me one.” 


ON A JULY AFTERNOON 


17 


“No!” retorted Squire Boatfield, who was still 
nursing his shin-bone, “ maybe not, Sir Timothy, 
but it shows how observant I am.” 

“ Oliver, pick up Lady Sue’s handkerchief,” came 
in mild accents from Mistress Pyncheon. 

“ Quite unnecessary, good Mistress,” rejoined 
Dame Harrison decisively, “ Sir Timothy has already 
seen it.” 

And while the two young men made a quick and not 
altogether successful dive for her ladyship’s handker- 
chief, colliding vigorously with one another in their 
endeavour to perform this act of gallantry single- 
handed, Lady Sue gazed down on them, with good- 
humoured contempt, laughter and mischief dancing 
in her eyes. She knew that she was good to look at, 
that she was rich, and that she had the pick of the 
county, aye of the South of England, did she desire 
to wed. Perhaps she thought of this, even whilst she 
laughed at the antics of her bevy of courtiers, all 
anxious to win her good graces, 

Yet even as she laughed, her face suddenly clouded 
over, a strange, wistful look came into her eyes, and 
her laughter was lost in a quick short sigh. 

A young man had just crossed the tiny rustic 
bridge which spanned the ha-ha dividing the flower- 
garden from the uncultivated park. He walked rap- 
idly through the trees, towards the skittle alley, and 
as he came nearer the merry lightheartedness seemed 
suddenly to vanish from Lady Sue’s manner: the 
ridiculousness of the two young men at her feet, glar- 
ing furiously at one another whilst fighting for her 


18 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


handkerchief, seemed now to irritate her ; she 
snatched the bit of delicate linen from their hands, 
and turned somewhat petulantly away. 

44 Shall we continue the game? ” she said curtly. 

The young man all the while that he approached 
had not taken his eyes off Lady Sue. Twice he had 
stumbled against rough bits of root or branch which 
he had not perceived in the grass through which he 
walked. He had seen her laughing gaily, whilst 
Squire Boatfield used profane language, and smile 
with contemptuous merriment at the two young men 
at her feet, he had also seen the change in her man- 
ner, the sudden wistful look, the quick sigh, the irri- 
tability and the petulance. 

But his own grave face expressed neither disap- 
proval at the one mood nor astonishment at the other. 
He walked somewhat like a samnambulist, with eyes 
fixed — almost expressionless in the intensity of their 
gaze. 

He was very plainly even poorly clad, and looked 
a dark figure even amongst these soberly-apparelled 
gentry: the grass beneath his feet had deadened the 
sound of his footsteps but Sir Marmaduke had ap- 
parently perceived him, for he beckoned to him to 
approach. 

44 What is it, Lambert? ” he asked kindly. 

44 Your letter to Master Skyffington, Sir Marma- 
duke,” replied the young man, 44 will you be pleased 
to sign it? ” 

44 Will it not keep? ” said Sir Marmaduke. 


ON A JULY AFTERNOON 19 

“ Yes ! an you wish it, Sir. I fear I have intruded. 
I did not know you were busy.” 

The young man had a harsh voice, and a strange 
brushqueness of manner which somehow suggested re- 
bellion against the existing conditions of life. He 
no longer looked at Lady Sue now, but straight at Sir 
Marmaduke, speaking the brief apology between his 
teeth, without opening his mouth, as if the words 
hurt him when they passed his lips. 

“ You had best speak to Master Skyffington him- 
self about the business,” rejoined Sir Marmaduke not 
heeding the mumbled apology, 44 he will be here 
anon.” 

He turned abruptly away and the young man once 
more left to himself silently and mechanically moved 
once more in the direction of the house. 

44 You will join us in a bowl of sack-posset, Master 
Lambert,” said Mistress de Chavasse striving to be 
amiable. 

44 You are very kind,” he said none too genially, 
44 in about half-an-hour if you will allow me. There 
is another letter yet to write.” 

No one had taken much notice of him. Even in 
these days when kingship and House of Lords were 
abolished, the sense of social inequality remained 
keen. To this coterie of avowed Republicans, young 
Richard Lambert — secretary or what-not to Sir 
Marmaduke, a paid dependent at any rate — was not 
worth more than a curt nod of the head, a conde- 
scending acknowledgment of his existence at best. 

But Lady Sue had not even bestowed the nod. She 


20 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


had not actually taken notice of his presence when 
he came ; the wistful look had vanished as soon as the 
young man’s harsh voice had broken on her ear: she 
did not look on him now that he went. 

She was busy with her game. Nathless her guar- 
dian’s secretary was of no more importance in the 
rich heiress’ sight than that mute row of nine-pins at 
the end of the alley, nor was there, mayhap in her 
mind much social distinction between the hollow-eyed 
lad who set them up stolidly from time to time, and 
the silent young student who wrote those letters which 
Sir Marmaduke had not known how to spell. 

I 

\ 

! 


CHAPTER III 


THE EXILE 

T) UT despite outward indifference, with the brief 
appearance of the soberly-garbed young stu- 
dent upon the scene of his abrupt and silent de- 
parture, all the zest seemed to have gone out of Lady 
Sue’s mood. 

The ingenuous flatteries of her little court irri- 
tated her now: she no longed felt either amused or 
pleased by the extravagant compliments lavished 
upon her beauty and skill by portly Squire John, 
by Sir Timothy Harrison or the more diffident young 
Squire Pyncheon. . 

44 Of a truth, I sometimes wish Lady ^Sue that I 
could find out if you have any faults,” remarked 
Squire Bloatfield unctuously. 

44 Nay, Squire,” she retorted sharply, 44 pray try 
to praise me to my female friends.” 

In vain did Mistress Pyncheon admonish her son 
to be more bold in his wooing. 

44 You behave like a fool, Oliver,” she said meekly. 

44 But, Mother ...” 

44 Go, make yourself pleasing to her ladyship.” 

44 But, Mother . . . ” * 

44 I pray you, my son,” she retorted with unusual 
acerbity, 44 do you want a million or do you not ? ” 

44 But, Mother ...” 


21 


22 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


“ Then go at once and get it, ere that fool Sir 
Timothy or the odious Boatfield capture it under 
your very nose.” 

“ But, Mother ...” 

“ Go ! say something smart to her at once . 
talk about your grey mare . . . she is over 

fond of horses . . . ” 

Then as the young Squire, awkward and clumsy 
in his manner, more accustomed to the company of 
his own servants than to that of high bom ladies, 
made sundry unfortunate attempts to enchain the 
attention of the heiress, his worthy mother turned 
with meek benignity to Sir Marmaduke. 

44 A veritable infatuation, good Sir Marmaduke,” 
she said with a sigh, 44 quite against my interests, 
you know. I had no thought to see the dear lad 
married so soon, nor to give up my home at the Dene 
yet, in favour of a new mistress. Not but that 
Oliver is not a good son to his mother — such a good 
lad! — and such a good husband he would be to any 
girl who . . . ” 

“A strange youth that secretary of yours, Sir 
Marmaduke,” here interposed Dame Harrison in her 
loud, dictatorial voice, breaking in on Mistress Pyn- 
cheon’s dithyrambs, 44 modest he appears to be, and 
silent too : a paragon meseems ! ” 

She spoke with obvious sarcasm, casting covert 
glances at Lady Sue to see if she heard. 

Sir Marmaduke shrugged his shoulders. 

44 Lambert is very industrious,” he said curtly. 

44 1 thought secretaries never did anything but 


THE EXILE 23 

suck the ends of their pens,” suggested Mistress 
Pyncheon mildly. 

“ Sometimes they make love to their employer’s 
daughter,” retorted Dame Harrison spitefully, for 
Lady Sue was undoubtedly lending an ear to the con- 
versation now that it had the young secretary for 
object. She was not watching Squire Boatfield 
who was wielding the balls just then with remarkable 
prowess, and at this last remark from the portly old 
dame, she turned sharply round and said with a 
strange little air of haughtiness which somehow be- 
came her very well: 

“ But then you see, Mistress, Master Lambert’s 
employer doth not possess a daughter of his own — ■ 
only a ward . . . mayhap that is the reason 

why his secretary performs his duties so well in other 
ways.” 

Her cheeks were glowing as she said this, and she 
looked quite defiant, as if challenging these disagree- 
able mothers and aunts of fortune-hunting youths to 
cast unpleasant aspersions on a friend whom she had 
taken under her special protection. 

Sir Marmaduke looked at her keenly: a deep frown 
settled between his eyes at sight of her enthusiasm. 
His face suddenly looked older, and seemed more 
dour, more repellent than before. 

“ Sue hath such a romantic temperament,” he said 
drily, speaking between his teeth and as if with an 
effort. “ Lambert’s humble origin has fired her imag- 
ination. He has no parents and his elder brother is 
the blacksmith down at Acol ; his aunt who seems to 


U NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


have had charge of the boys ever since they were 
children, is just a common old woman who lives in 
the village — a strict adherent, so I am told, of this 
new sect, whom Justice Bennet of Derby hath so 
justly nicknamed 44 Quakers.” They talk strangely 
these people, and believe in a mighty queer fashion. 
I know not if Lambert be of their creed, for he does 
not use the 4 Thee ’ and 4 Thou 9 when speaking as 
do all Quakers, so I am told ; but his empty pockets, 
a smattering of learning which he has picked up the 
Lord knows where, and a plethora of unspoken griev- 
ances have all proved a sure passport to Lady Sue’s 
sympathy.” 

44 Nay, but your village of Acol seems full of queer 
folk, good Sir Marmaduke,” said Mistress Pyncheon. 
44 I have heard talk among my servants of a myste- 
rious prince hailed from France, who has lately made 
one of your cottages his home.” 

44 Oh ! ah ! yes ! ” quoth Sir Marmaduke lightly, 
44 the interesting exile from the Court of King Louis. 
I did not know that his fame had reached you, Mis- 
tress.” 

44 A French prince? — in this village?” exclaimed 
Dame Harrison sharply, 44 and pray, good Sir Mar- 
maduke, where did you go a-fishing to get such a 
bite?” 

44 Nay!” replied Sir Marmaduke with a short 
laugh, 44 I had naught to do with his coming ; he 
wandered to Acol from Dover about six months ago 
it seems, and found refuge in the Lamberts’ cottage, 
where he has remained ever since. A queer fellow I 


THE EXILE 


25 


believe. I have only seen him once or twice in my 
fields ... in the evening usually . . . ” 

Perhaps there was just a curious note of irritabil- 
ity in Sir Marmaduke’s voice as he spoke of this 
mysterious inhabitant of the quiet village of Acol; 
certain it is that the two matchmaking old dames 
seemed smitten at one and the same time with a 
sense of grave danger to their schemes. 

An exile from France, a prince who hides his 
identity and his person in a remote Kentish village, 
and a girl with a highly imaginative temperament 
like Lady Sue! here was surely a more definite, a 
more important rival to the pretensions of homely 
country youths like Sir Timothy Harrison or Squire 
Pyncheon, than even the student of humble origin 
whose brother was a blacksmith, whose aunt was a 
Quakeress, and who wandered about the park of 
Acol with hollow eyes fixed longingly on the much 
courted heiress. 

Dame Harrison and Mistress Pyncheon both in- 
stinctively turned a scrutinising gaze on her lady- 
ship. Neither of them was perhaps ordinarily very 
observant, but self-interest had made them keen, and 
it would have been impossible not to note the strange 
atmosphere which seemed suddenly to pervade the 
entire personality of the young girl. 

There was nothing in her face now expressive of 
whole-hearted partisanship for an absent friend, such 
as she had displayed when she felt that young Lam- 
bert was being unjustly sneered at, rather was it a 
kind of entranced and arrested thought, as if her 


26 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


mind having come in contact with one all-absorbing 
idea, it ceased to function in any other direction save 
that one. 

Her cheeks no longer glowed, they seemed pale 
and transparent like those of an ascetic, her lips 
were slightly parted, her eyes appeared unconscious 
of everything round her, and gazing at something 
enchanting beyond that bank of clouds which glim- 
mered, snow-white, through the trees. 

“ But what in the name of common sense is a 
French prince doing in Acol village,” ejaculated 
Dame Harrison in her most strident voice, which had 
the effect of drawing every one’s attention to herself 
and to Sir Marmaduke whom she was thus address- 
ing. 

The men ceased playing and gathered nearer. 
The spell was broken. That .strange and mysterious 
look vanished from Lady Sue’s face ; she turned away 
from the speakers and idly plucked a few bunches of 
acorn from an overhanging oak. 

“ Of a truth,” replied Sir Marmaduke whose eyes 
were still steadily fixed on his ward, “ I know as little 
about the fellow ma’am as you do yourself. He was 
exiled from France by King Louis for political rea- 
sons, so he explained to the old woman Lambert, with 
whom he is still lodging. I understand that he 
hardly ever sleeps at the cottage, that his appear- 
ances there are short and fitful and that his ways 
are passing mysterious. . . . And that is all I 

know,” he added in conclusion, with a careless shrug 
of the shoulders. 


THE EXILE Tl 

“ Quite a romance ! ” remarked Mistress Pyncheon 
drily. 

“ You should speak to him, good Sir Marmaduke,” 
said Dame Harrison decisively, 44 you are a magis- 
trate. ’Tis your duty to know more of this fellow 
and his antecedents.” 

“ Scarcely that, ma’am,” rejoined Sir Marmaduke, 
“ you understand ... I have a young ward 
living for the nonce in my house . . . she is 

very rich, and Ifear me of a very romantic disposi- 
tion ... I shall try to get the man removed 
from hence, but until that is accomplished, I prefer 
to know nothin^gabout him . . .” 

44 How wise of you, good Sir Marmaduke ! ” quoth 
Mistress Pyncheon with a sigh of content. 

A sentiment obviously echoed in the hearts of a 
good many people there present. 

44 One knows these foreign adventurers,” concluded 
Sir Marmaduke with pleasant irony, 44 with their 
princely crowns and forlorn causes . . . half a 

million of English money would no doubt regild the 
former and bolster up the latter.” 

He rose from his seat as he spoke, boldly encoun- 
tering even as he did so, a pair of wrathful and con- 
temptuous girlish eyes fixed steadily upon him. 

44 Shall we go within,” he said addressing his 
guests, and returning his young ward’s gaze haught- 
ily, even commandingly ; 44 a cup of sack-posset will 
be welcome after the fatigue of the game. Will you 
honour my poor house, Mistress? and you, too, 
ma’am? Gentlemen, you must fight among your- 


28 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


selves for the privilege of escorting Lady Sue to the 
house, and if she prove somewhat disdainful this 
beautiful summer’s afternoon, I pray you remember 
that faint heart never won fair lady, and that the 
citadel is not worth storming an it. is not obdurate;” 

The suggestion of sack-posset proved vastly to the 
liking of the merry company. Mistress de Chavasse 
who had been singularly silent all the afternoon 
walked quickly in advance of her brother-in-law’s 
guests, no doubt in order to cast a scrutinising eye 
over the arrangements of the table which she had en- 
trusted to the servants. 

Sir Marmaduke followed at a short distance, es- 
corting the older women, making somewhat obvious 
efforts to control his own irritability, and to impart 
some sort of geniality to the proceedings. 

Then in a noisy group in the rear the three men 
still fighting for the good graces of Lady Sue, whilst 
she, silent, absorbed, walked leisurely along, paying 
no heed to the wrangling of her courtiers, her fingers 
tearing up with nervous impatience the delicate cups 
of the acorns, which she then threw from her with 
childish petulance. 

And her eyes still sought the distance beyond the 
boundaries of Sir Marmaduke’s private grounds, 
there where cornfields and sky and sea were merged 
by the summer haze into a glowing line of emerald 
and purple and gold. 


CHAPTER IV 


GRINDING POVERTY 

I T was about an hour later. Sir Marmaduke’s 
guests had departed, Dame Harrison in her 
ricketty coach, Mistress Pyncheon in her chaise, 
whilst Squire Boatfield was riding his well-known 
ancient cob. 

Everyone had drunk sack-posset, had eaten turkey 
pasties, and enjoyed the luscious fruit: the men had 
striven to be agreeable to the heiress, the old ladies 
to be encouraging to their proteges. Sir Marma- 
duke had tried to be equally amiable to all, whilst 
favouring none. He was an unpopular man in East 
Kent and he knew it : doing nothing to counter- 
balance the unpleasing impression caused invariably 
by his surly manner, and his sarcastic, often violent 
temper. 

Mistress Amelia Editha de Chavasse was now alone 
with her brother-in-law in the great bare hall of the 
Court, Lady Sue having retired to her room under 
pretext of the vapours, and young Lambert been 
finally dismissed from work for the day. 

“ You are passing kind to the youth, Marma- 
duke,” said Mrs. de Chavasse meditatively when the 
young man’s darkly-clad figure had disappeared up 
the stairs. 

She was sitting in a high-backed chair, her head 
29 


SO NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


resting against the carved woodwork. The folds of 
her simple gown hung primly round her well-shaped 
figure. Undoubtedly she was still a very good-look- 
ing woman, though past the hey-day of her youth 
and beauty. The half-light caused by the depth of 
the window embrasure, and the smallness of the glass 
panes through which the summer sun hardly suc- 
ceeded in gaining admittance, added a certain soft- 
ness to her chiselled features, and to the usually hard 
expression of her large dark eyes. 

She was gazing out of the tall window, wherein 
the several broken panes were roughly patched with 
scraps of paper, out into the garden and the dis- 
tance beyond, where the sea could be always guessed 
at, even when not seen. Sir Marmaduke had his 
back to the light: he was sitting astride a low chair, 
his high-booted foot tapping the ground impatiently, 
his fingers drumming a devil’s tattoo against the 
back of the chair. 

44 Lambert would starve if I did not provide for 
him,” he said with a sneer. 44 Adam, his brother, 
could do naught for him: he is poor as a church- 
mouse, poorer even than I — but nathless,” he added 
with a violent oath, 44 it strikes every one as madness 
that I should keep a secretary when I scarce can pay 
the wages of a serving maid.” 

44 ’Twere better you paid your servants’ wages, 
Marmaduke,” she retorted harshly, 44 they were in- 
solent to me just now. Why do you not pay the 
girl’s arrears to-day ? ” 

44 Why do I not climb up to the moon, my dear 


GRINDING POVERTY 


SI 


Editha, and bring down a few stars with me in my 
descent,” he replied with a shrug of his broad 
shoulders. “ I have come to my last shilling.” 

“ The Earl of Northallerton cannot live for ever.” 

“ He hath vowed I believe that he would do it, 
if only to spite me. And b^ythe time that he come 
to die this accursed Commonwealth will have abol- 
ished all titles and confiscated every estate.” 

“Hush, Marmaduke,” she said casting a quick, 
furtive look all round her, “ there may be spies 
about.” 

“ Nay, I care not,” he rejoined roughly, jumping 
to his feet and kicking the chair aside so that it 
struck with a loud crash against the flagged floor. 
“ ’Tis but little good a man gets for cleaving loyally 
to the Commonwealth. The sequestrated estates of 
the Royalists would have been distributed among the 
adherents of republicanism, and not held to bolster 
up a military dictatorship. Bah ! ” he continued al- 
lowing his temper to overmaster him, speaking in 
harsh tones and with many a violent oath, “ it had 
been wiser to embrace the Royal cause. The Lord 
Protector is sick so ’tis said. His son Richard hath 
no backbone, and the present tyranny is worse than 
the last. I cannot collect my rents ; I have been 
given neither reward nor compensation for the help 
I gave in ’46. So much for their boasted gratitude 
and their many promises ! My Lord Protector feasts 
the Dutch ambassadors with music and with wine, 
my Lord Ireton and Fairfax and Hutchinson and 
the accursed lot of canting Puritans flaunt it in silks 


32 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


and satins, whilst I go about in a ragged doublet 
and with holes in my shoes.” 

“ There’s Lady Sue ...” murmured Mrs. 
de Chavasse soothingly. 

“ Pshaw ! the guardianship of a girl who comes of 
age in three months ! ” 

“You can get another by that time.” 

“ Not I. I am not a sycophant hanging round 
White Hall! ’Twas sheer good luck and no merit 
of mine that got me the guardianship of Sue. Lord 
Middlesborough, her kinsman, wanted it ; the Courts 
would have given her to him, but old Noll thought 
him too much of a ‘ gentleman,’ whilst I — an out-at- 
elbows country squire, was more to my Lord Pro- 
tector’s liking. ’Tis the only thing he ever did for 
me.” 

There was intense bitterness and a harsh vein of 
sarcasm running through Sir Marmaduke’s talk. It 
was the speech of a disappointed man, who had 
hoped, and striven, and fought once, had raised long- 
ing hands towards brilliant things and sighed after 
glory, or riches, or fame, but whose restless spirit 
had since been tamed, crushed under the heavy 
weight of unsatisfied ambition. 

Poverty — grinding, unceasing, uninteresting 
poverty, had been Sir Marmaduke’s relentless tor- 
mentor ever since he had reached man’s estate. His 
father Sir Jeremy de Chavasse had been poor before 
him. The younger son of that Earl of Northaller- 
ton who cut such a brilliant figure at the court of 
Queen Elizabeth, Jeremy had married Miss Spanton 


GRINDING POVERTY 


33 


of Acol Court, who had brought him a few acres of 
land heavily burdened with mortgage as her dowry. 
They were a simple-minded, unostentatious couple 
who pinched and scraped and starved that their two 
sons might keep up the appearances of gentlemen at 
the Court of King Charles. 

But both the young men seemed to have inherited 
from their brilliant grandfather luxurious tastes and 
a love of gambling and of show — but neither his 
wealth nor yet his personal charm of manner. The 
eldest, Rowland, however, soon disappeared from the 
arena of life. He married when scarce twenty years 
of age a girl who had been a play-actress. This 
marriage nearly broke his doting mother’s heart, 
and his own, too, for a matter of that, for the union 
was a most unhappy one. Rowland de Chavasse 
died very soon after, unreconciled to his father and 
mother who refused to see him or his family even on 
his deathbed. 

Jeremy de Chavasse’s few hopes now centred on 
his younger son, Marmaduke. In order to enable 
the young man to remain in London, to mix freely 
and to hold his own in that set into which family 
traditions had originally gained him admittance, 
the fond mother and indulgent father denied them- 
selves the very necessities of life. 

Marmaduke took everything that was given him, 
whilst chafing at the paucity of his allowance. 
Determined to cut a figure at Court he spent two 
years and most of his mother’s dowry in a vain at- 
tempt to capture the heart of one or the other of the 


34 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


rich heiresses who graced the entourage of Charles I. 

But Nature who had given Marmaduke boundless 
ambition, had failed to bestow on him those attri- 
butes which would have helped him on towards its 
satisfaction. He was neither sufficiently prepossess- 
ing to please an heiress, nor sufficiently witty and 
brilliant to catch the royal eye or the favour of his 
uncle, the present Earl of Northallerton. His ef- 
forts in the direction of advantageous matrimony 
had earned for him at Court the nickname of : The 
Sparrowhawk. But eve n these efforts had soon to be 
relinquished for want of the wherewithal. 

The doting mother no longer could supply him 
with a sufficiency of money to vie with the rich gal- 
lants at the Court, and the savings which Sir Jeremy 
had been patiently accumulating with a view to free- 
ing the Acol estates from mortgage went instead to 
rescue young Marmaduke from a debtor’s prison. 

Poor Sir Jeremy did not long survive his disap- 
pointment. Marmaduke returned to Acol Court 
only to find his mother a broken invalid, and his 
father dead. 

Since then it had been a perpetual struggle 
against poverty and debt, a bitter revolt against 
Fate, a burning desire to satisfy ambition which had 
received so serious a check. 

When the great conflict broek out between King 
and Parliament, he threw himself into it, without zest 
and without conviction, embracing the cause of the 
malcontents with a total lack of enthusiasm, merely 


GRINDING POVERTY 


35 


out of disappointment — out of hatred for the bril- 
liant Court and circle in which he had once hoped to 
become a prominent figure. 

He fought under Ireton, was commended as a 
fairly good soldier, though too rebellious to be very 
reliable, too self-willed to be wholly trusted. 

Even in these days of brilliant reputations quickly 
made he remained obscure and practically unnoticed. 
Advancement never came his way and whilst younger 
men succeeded in attracting the observant eye of old 
Noll, he was superseded at every turn, passed over — 
anon forgotten. 

When my Lord Protector’s entourage was formed, 
the Household organised, no one thought of The 
Sparrowhawk for any post that would have satisfied 
his desires. Once more he cursed his own poverty. 
Money — the want of it — he felt was at the root of 
all his disappointments. A burning desire to obtain 
it at any cost even that of honour filled his entire 
being, his mind, his soul, his thoughts, every nerve 
in his body. Money, and social prestige! To be 
somebody at Court or elsewhere, politically, commer- 
cially, he cared not. To handle money and to com- 
mand attention ! 

He became wary, less reckless ! striving to obtain 
by diplomatic means that which he had once hoped 
to snatch by sheer force of personality. The Court 
of Chancery having instituted itself sole guardian 
and administrator of the revenues and fortunes of 
minors whose fathers had fought on the Royalist 


36 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


side, and were either dead or in exile, and arrogating 
unto itself the power to place such minors under the 
tutelage of persons whose loyalty to the Common- 
wealth was undoubted, Sir Marmaduke bethought 
himself of applying for one of these official guardian- 
ships which were known to be very lucrative and 
moreover practically sinecures. 

Fate for once favoured him: a half-contemptuous 
desire to do something for this out-at-elbows Kent- 
ish squire who had certainly been a loyal adherent of 
the Commonwealth, caused my Lord Protector to 
favour his application. The rich daughter of the 
Marquis of Dover was placed under the guardian- 
ship of Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse with an allow- 
ance of £4,000 a year for her maintenance, until she 
came of age. A handsome fortune and stroke of 
good luck for a wise and prudent man : — a drop in 
an ocean of debts, difficulties and expensive tastes, 
in the case of Sir Marmaduke. 

A prolonged visit to London with a view either 
of gaining a foothold in the new Court, or of draw- 
ing the attention of the malcontents, of Monk and 
his party, or even of the Royalists to himself resulted 
in further .debts, in more mortgages, more bitter dis- 
appointments. 

The man himself did not please. His personality 
was unsympathetic; Lady Sue’s money which he now 
lavished right and left bought neither friendship nor 
confidence. He joined all the secret clubs which in 
defiance of Cromwell’s rigid laws against betting and 


GRINDING POVERTY 


37 


gambling were the resort of all the smart gentlemen 
in the town. Ill-luck at hazard and dice pursued 
him : he was a bad loser, quarrelsome and surly. His 
ambition had not taught him the salutory lesson of 
how to make friends in order to attain his desires. 

His second return to the ancestral home was 
scarcely less disastrous than the first ; a mortgage on 
his revenues as guardian of Lady Sue Aldmarshe just 
saved him this time from the pursuit of his creditors, 
and this mortgage he had only obtained through 
false statements as to his ward’s age. 

As he told his sister-in-law a moment ago, he was 
at his last gasp. He had perhaps just begun to 
realise that he would never succeed through the force 
of his own individuality. Therefore money had be- 
come a still more imperative necessity to him. He 
was past forty now. Disappointed ambition and an 
ever rebellious spirit had left severe imprints on hisi 
face: his figure was growing heavy, his prominent lips 
unadorned by a moustache, had an unpleasant down- 
ward droop, and lately he had even noticed that the 
hair on the to ^pof his head was not so thick as of 
yore. 

The situation was indeed getting desperate, since 
Lady Sue would be of age in three months, when all 
revenues for her maintenance would cease. 

“ Methinks her million will go to one of those 
young jackanapes who hang about her,” sighed Mrs. 
de Chavasse, with as much bitterness almost as Sir 
Marmaduke had shown. 


38 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


Her fortunes were in a sense bound up with those 
of her brother-in-law. He had been most unaccount- 
ably kind to her of late, a kindness which his many 
detractors attributed either to an infatuation for 
his brother’s widow, or to a desire to further irritate 
his uncle the Earl of Northallerton, who — a rigid 
Puritan himself — hated the play-actress and her 
connection with his own family. 

“Can naught be done, Marmaduke? ” she asked 
after a slight pause, during which she had watched 
anxiously the restless figure of her brother-in-law as 
he paced up and down the narrow hall. 

“ Can you suggest anything, my dear Editha? ” 
he retorted roughly. 

“Pshaw!” she ejaculated with some impatience, 
“ you are not so old, but you could have made your- 
self agreable to the wench.” 

“You think that she would have fallen in love 
with her middle-aged guardian? ” he exclaimed with 
a harsh, sarcastic laugh. “ That girl P 
with her head full of romantic nonsense 
and I ... in ragged doublet, with a bald head, 
and an evil temper. . . . Bah ! ! ! 

But,” he added, with an unpleasant sneer, “ ’tis un- 
selfish and disinterested on your part, my dear 
Editha, even to suggest it. Sue does not like you. 
Her being mistress here, would not be conducive to 
your comfort.” 

“Nay! ’tis no use going on in this manner any 
longer, Marmaduke,” she said dejectedly. “Pleas- 
ant times will not come my way .so long as you have 


GRINDING POVERTY 39 

not a shilling to give me for a new gown, and cannot 
afford to keep up my house in London.” 

She fully expected another retort from him — 
brutal and unbridled as was his wont when money 
affairs were being discussed. He was not accus- 
tomed to curb his violence in her presence. She had 
been his helpmeet in many unavowable extrava- 
gances, in the days when he was still striving after a 
brilliant position in town. There had been certain 
rumours anent a gambling den, whereat Mrs. de 
Chavasse had been the presiding spirit and which had 
come under the watchful eye of my Lord Protector’s 
spies. 

Now she had perforce to share her brother-in-law’s 
poverty. At any rate he provided a roof over her 
head. On the advent of Lady Sue Aldmarshe into 
his bachelor establishment he called on his sister-in- 
law for the part of duenna. 

At one time the fair Editha had exercised her un- 
doubted charms over Marmaduke’s violent nature, 
but latterly she had become a mere butt for his out- 
bursts of rage. But now to her astonishment, and in 
response to her petulant reproach, his fury seemed to 
fall away from him. He threw his head back and 
broke out into uncontrolled, half-sarcastic, almost 
defiant laughter. 

“ How blind you are, my dear Editha,” he said 
with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “Nay! an I 
mistake not, in that case there will be some strange 
surprises for you within the next three months. I 
pray you try and curb your impatience until then, 


40 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

an dto bear with the insolence of a serving wench, 
’Twill serve you well, mine oath on that ! ” he added 
significantly. 

Then without vouchsafing further explanations of 
his enigmatic utterances, he turned on his heel — still 
laughing apparently at some pleasing thought — and 
walked upstairs leaving her to meditate. 


CHAPTER V 


THE IiEGAE ASPECT 

'JVyTRS. DE CHAVASSE sat musing 1 , in that high- 
backed chair, for some considerable time. 
Anon Sir Marmaduke once more traversed the hall, 
taking no heed of her as he went out into the garden. 
She watched his broad figure moving along the path 
and then crossing the rustic bridge until it disap- 
peared among the trees of the park. 

There was something about his attitude of awhile 
ago which had puzzled her. And with puzzlement 
came an unexplainable fear: she had known Marma- 
duke in all his moods, but never in such an one as 
he had displayed before her just now. There had 
been a note almost of triumph in the laughter with 
which he had greeted her last reproach. The cry 
of the sparrowhawk when it seizes its prey. 

Triumph in Sir Marmaduke filled her with dread. 
No one knew better than she did the hopeless condi- 
tion of his financial status. Debt — prison perhaps 
— was waiting for him at every turn. Yet he seemed 
triumphant ! She knew him to have reached those 
confines of irritability and rebellion against povert}^, 
which would cause him to shrink from nothing for 
the sake of gaining money. Yet he seemed triumph- 
ant ! 


41 


42 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


Instinctively she shuddered as she thought of Sue. 
She had no cause to like the girl, yet would she not 
wish to see her come to harm. 

She did not dare avow even to herself the convic- 
tion which she had, that if Sir Marmaduke could 
gain anything by the young girl’s death, he would 
not hesitate to . . . Nay! she would not even 

frame that thought. Marmaduke had been kind to 
her ; she could but hope that temptation such as that, 
would never come his way. 

Hymn-of-Prai.se Busy broke in on her meditations. 
His nasal tones — which had a singular knack of irri- 
tating her as a rule — struck quite pleasingly on her 
ear, as a welcome interruption to the conflict of her 
thoughts. 

“ Master Skyffington, ma’am,” he said in his usual 
drawly voice, “ he is on his way to Dover, and de- 
sired his respects, an you wish to see him.” 

“ Yes ! yes ! I’ll see Master Skyffington,” she said 
with alacrity, rising from her chair, “ go apprise Sir 
Marmaduke, and ask Master Skyffington to come 
within.” 

She was all agitation now, eager, excited, and her- 
self went forward to meet the quaint, little wizened 
figure, which appeared in the doorway. 

Master Skyffington, attomey-at-law, was small 
and thin, looked doubly so in fact in the black clothes 
which he wore. His eyes were blue and watery, his 
manner peculiarly diffident. He seemed to present a 
perpetual apology to the world for his own existence 
therein. 


THE LEGAL ASPECT 


43 


Even now as Mrs. de Chavasse seemed really over- 
joyed to see him, he backed his meagre person out 
of the doorway as she approached, whereupon she — 
impatiently — clutched his arm and dragged him for- 
ward into the hall. 

“ Sit down there, Master,” she said, speaking with 
obvious agitation, and almost pushing the poor little 
man off his feet whilst dragging him to a chair. 
“ Sir Marmaduke will see you anon, but ’twas a kind 
thought to come and bring me news.” 

“ Hem ! hem ! . . .” stammered Mas- 
ter Skyffington, “I . . . that is hem 

. I left Canterbury this morning and was on 
my way to Dover . . . hem . . . this lies 

on my way, ma’am . . . and . . .” 

“ Yes ! yes ! ” she said impatiently, “ but you have 
some news, of course? ” 

“ News ! . . . news ! ” he muttered apologetic- 

ally, and clutching at his collar, which seemed to be 
choking him, “ what news — er — I pray you, 
ma’am? ” 

“ That clue? ” she insisted. 

“ It was very slight,” he stammered. 

“ And it led to naught ? ” 

“ Alas ! ” 

Her eagerness vanished. She sank back into her 
chair and moaned. 

“ My last hope ! ” she said dully. 

“ Nay ! nay! ” rejoined Master Skyffington quite 
cheerfully, his courage seemingly having risen with 
her despair. “We must not be despondent. The 


U NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

noble Earl of Northallerton hath interested himself 
of late in the search and . . .” 

But she shrugged her shoulders, whilst a short, 
bitter laugh escaped her lips : 

“ At last? ” she said with biting sarcasm. “ After 
twelve years ! ” 

“Nay! but remember ma’am that his lordship now 
is very ill . and nigh on seventy years old. 

. . . Failing your late husband Mr. Rowland — 

whom the Lord hath in His keeping — your eldest son 
is hem . . . that is ... by 

law, ma’am . . . and with all respect due to Sir 

Marmaduke . . . your eldest son is heir to the 

Earldom.” 

“ And though his lordship hates me, he still pre- 
fers that my son should succeed to his title, rather 
than Sir Marmaduke whom he abhors.” 

But that suggestion was altogether too much for 
poor Master Skyffington’s sense of what was due to 
so noble a family, and to its exalted head. 

“ That is . . . er . . .” he muttered in su- 
preme discomfort, swallowing great gulps which rose 
to his throat at this rash and disrespectful speech 
from the ex-actress. “ Family feuds . . . hem 

. . . er . . . very distressing of a truth 
and . . . that is . . .” 

“ I fear me his lordship will be disappointed,” she 
rejoined quite heedless of the little attorney’s per- 
turbation, “ and that under these circumstances Sir 
Marmaduke will surely succeed.” 

“ I was about to remark,” he rejoined, “ that now 


THE LEGAL ASPECT 45 

with my lord’s help his wealth and influence . . . 

now that is that he has interested himself 

in the matter . . . hem ... we might 

make fresh enquiries . . . that is . . . 
er . . ” 

“ It will be useless, Master. I have done all that 
is humanly possible. I loved my boys dearly — and 
it was because of my love for them that I placed 
them under my mother’s care. ... I loved 
them, you understand, but I was living in a gay 
world in London . . . my husband was dead 

. . * I could do naught for their comfort. 

I thought it would be best for them . . .” 

It was her turn now to speak humbly, almost 
apologetically, whilst her eyes sought those of the 
simple little attorney, trying to read approval in his 
glance, or at any rate an absence of reproof. He 
was shaking his head, sighing with visible embarrass- 
ment the while. In his innermost soul, he could find 
no excuse for the frivilous mother, anxious to avoid 
the responsibilities which the Lord Himself had put 
upon her: anxious to be rid of her children in order 
that she might pursue with greater freedom and ease 
that life of enjoyment and thoughtlessness for which 
she craved. 

44 My mother was a strange woman,” continued 
Mrs. de Chavasse earnestly and placing her small 
white hand on the black sleeve of the attorney, 44 she 
cared little enough for me, and not at all for Lon- 
don and for society. She did not understand the 
many duties that devolve on a woman of fashion. 


46 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


. . . And I was that in those days ! 

twenty years ago ! ” 

44 Ah ! Truly ! truly ! ” sighed Master Skyffing- 
ton. 

“ Mayhap she acted according to her own lights 
after some years she became a convert to 
that strange new faith . . . the people who call 

themselves 4 Friends ’ who .salute no one 

with the hat, and who talk so strangely, saying: 

4 Thee ’ and 4 Thou ’ even when addressing their bet- 
ters. One George Fox had a great hold on her. He 
was quite a youth then, but she thought him a saint. 
’Tis he methinks poisoned her mind against me, and 
caused her to curse me on her deathbed.” 

She gave a little shudder — of superstition, per- 
haps. The maternal curse — she felt — was mayhap 
bearing fruit after all. Master Skyffington’s watery 
eyes expressed gentle sympathy. His calling had 
taught him many of the hidden secrets of human 
nature and of Life: he guessed that the. time — if not 
already here — was nigh at hand, when this unfortu- 
nate woman would realise the emptiness of her life, 
and would begin to reap the bitter harvest of the 
barren seeds which she had sown. 

“Aye ! I lay it all at the door of these 4 Friends 9 
who turned a mother’s heart against her own 
daughter,” continued Mrs. de Chavasse vehemently. 
44 She never told me that she was sick, sent me neither 
letter nor message ; only after her death a curt note 
came to me, writ in her hand, entrusted to one of her 
own co-worshippers, a canting, mouthing creature, 


THE LEGAL ASPECT 


47 


who grinned whilst I read the heartless message. 
My mother had sent her grandchildren away, so she 
told me in the letter, when she felt that the Lord 
was calling her to Him. She had placed my boys — 
my boys, Master ! — in the care of a trusted 4 Friend ’ 
who would bring them up in the fear of God, away 
from the influence of their mother. My boys, Mas- 
ter, remember ! . . . they were to be brought up 

in ignorance of their name — of the very existence of 
their mother. The 4 Friend 9 nathless a fellow 
Quaker — had agreed to this on my mother’s death- 
bed.” 

44 Hm ! ’tis passing strange, and passing sad,” said 
the attorney, with real sympathy now, for there was 
a pathetic note of acute sorrow in Mrs. de Chavasse’s 
voice, 44 but at the time . . . hem . . * 
and with money and influence . . . hem . . . 
much might have been done.” 

44 Ah ! believe me, Master, I did what I could. I 
was in London then. ... I flew to Canterbury 
where my mother lived. ... I found her dead 
. . . and the boys gone . . . none of the 

neighbours could tell me whither. . . . All they 

knew was that a woman had been living with my 
mother of late and had gone away, taking the boys 
with her. . . . My boys, Master, and no one 

could tell me whither they had gone! I spent what 
money I had, and Sir Marmaduke nobly bore his 
share in the cost of a ceaseless search, as the Earl of 
Northallerton would do nothing then to help me.” 

44 Passing strange . . . passing sad,” mur- 


48 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


mured Master Skyffington, shaking his head, 44 but 
me thinks I recollect . . . hem . . . some 

six years ago ... a quest which led to a clue 
. . . er . . . that is . . . two young 
gentlemen . . .” 

44 Impostors, Master,” she rejoined, 44 aye! I 
have heard of many such since then. At first I used 
to believe their stories . . .” 

44 At first?” he ejaculated in amazement, 44 but 
surely . . . hem . . . the faces 

your own sons, ma’am . . .” 

44 Ah ! the faces ! ” she said, whilst a blush of em- 
barrassment even of shame now suffused her pale 
cheeks. 44 1 mean . . . you understand . 

I ... I had not seen my boys since they were 
babes in arms . . . they were ten years old 

when they were taken away . . . but 

but it is nigh on twenty-two years since I had set 
eyes on their faces. I would not know them, if they 
passed me by.” 

Tears choked her voice. Shame had added its 
bitter sting to the agony of her sorrow. Of a truth 
it was a terrible epilogue of misery, followed on a 
life-story of frivolity and of heartlessness which Mrs. 
cle Chavasse had almost unconsciously related to the 
poor ignorant country attorney. Desirous at all 
costs of retaining her freedom, she had parted from 
her children with a light heart, glad enough that 
their grandmother was willing to relieve her of all 
responsibility. Time slipped by whilst she enjoyed 
herself, danced and flirted, gambled and played her 


THE LEGAL ASPECT 


49 


part in that world of sport and Fashion wherein a 
mother’s heart was an unnecessary commodity. Ten 
years are a long while in the life of an old woman 
who lives in a remote country town, and sees Death 
approaching with slow yet certain stride; but that 
same decade is as but a fleeting hour to the woman 
who is young and who lives for the moment. 

The boys had been forgotten long ere they dis- 
appeared! Forgotten? perhaps not! — but their 
memory put away in a hidden cell of the mind where 
other inconvenient thoughts were stored: only to be 
released and gazed upon when other more agreeable 
ones had ceased to fill the brain. 

She felt humbled before this simple-minded man, 
whom she knew she had shocked by the recital of her 
callousness. With innate gentleness of disposition 
he tried to hide his feelings and to set aside the sub- 
jest for the moment. 

4 4 Sir Marmaduke was very disinterested, when he 
aided you in the quest,” he said meekly, glad to be 
able to praise one whom he felt it his duty to 
respect, 44 for under present circumstances . . . 

hem ! . . ” 

44 1 will raise no difficulties in Sir Marmaduke’s 
way,” she rejoined, 44 there is no doubt in my mind 
that my boys are dead, else I had had news of them 
ere this.” 

He looked at her keenly — as keenly as he dared 
with his mild, blue eyes. It was hard to keep in 
sympathy with her. Her moods seemed to change as 
she spoke of her boys and then of Sir Marmaduke. 


50 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWR 


Her last remark seemed to argue that her callousness 
with regard to her sons had not entirely yielded to 
softer emotions yet. 

“ In case of my Lord Northallerton’s death,” she 
continued lightly, “ I shall not put in a claim on be- 
half of any son of mine.” 

“ Whereupon — hem — Sir Marmaduke as next-of- 
kin, would have the enjoyment of the revenues — and 
mayhap would have influence enough then to make 
good his claim to the title before the House of 
Lords . . .” 

He checked himself : looked furtively round and 
added : 

“ Provided it please God and my Lord Protector 
that the House of Lords come back to Westminster 
by that time.” 

“ I thank you, Master,” said Mrs. de Chavasse 
rising from her chair, intimating that this inter- 
view was now over, “ you have told me all that I 
wish to know. Let me assure you, that I will not 
prove ungrateful. Your services will be amply re- 
paid by whoever succeeds to the title and revenues 
of Northallerton. Did you wish to see Sir Marma- 
duke?” 

“ I thank you, Mistress, not to-day,” replied Mas- 
ter Skyflington somewhat drily. The lady’s 
promises had not roused his enthusiasm. He would 
have preferred to see more definite reward for his 
labours, for he had worked faithfully and was sub- 
stantially out of pocket in this quest after the two 
missing young men. 


THE LEGAL ASPECT 


51 


But he was imbued with that deep respect for the 
family he had served all his life, which no conflict 
between privilege and people would ever eradicate : 
and though Mrs. de Chavasse’s origin was of the 
humblest, she was nevertheless herself now within the 
magic circle into which Master Skyflington never 
gazed save with the deepest reverence. 

He thought it quite natural that she. should dis- 
miss him with a curt and condescending nod, and 
when she had swept majestically out of the room, he 
made his way humbly across the hall, then by the 
garden door out towards the tumble-down barn 
where he had tethered his old mare. 

Master Courage helped him to mount, and he rode 
away in the direction of the Dover Road, his head 
bent, his thoughts dwelling in puzzlement and won- 
der on the strange doings of those whom he still rev- 
erently called his betters. 


I 


CHAPTER VI 

UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ELMS 

H ER head full of romantic nonsense! 

Well! perhaps that was the true keynote of 
Sue’s character; perhaps, too, it was that same ro- 
mantic temperament which gave such peculiar 
charm to her personality. It was not mere beauty 
— of which she had a plentiful share — nor yet alto- 
gether her wealth which attracted so many courtiers 
to her feet. Men who knew her in those days at 
Acol and subsequently at Court said that Lady Sue 
was magnetic. 

She compelled attention, she commanded admira- 
tion, through that very romanticism of hers which 
caused her eyes to glow at the recital of valour, or 
sorrow, or talent, which caused her to see beauty of 
thought and mind and character there where it lay 
most deeply hidden, there — sometimes — where it 
scarce existed. 

The dark figure of her guardian’s secretary had 
attracted her attention from the moment when she 
first saw him moving silently about the house and 
park: the first words she spoke to him were words 
of sympathy. His life-story — brief and simple as it 
had been — had interested her. He seemed so differ- 
ent to these young and old country squires who fre- 
quented Acol Court. He neither wooed or flattered 
52 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ELMS 53 

her, yet seemed to find great joy in her company. 
His voice at times was harsh, his manner abrupt and 
ever rebellious, but at others it fell to infinite gentle- 
ness when he talked to her of Nature and the stars, 
both of which he had studied deeply. 

He never spoke of religion. That subject which 
was on everybody’s tongue, together with the free 
use of the most sacred names, he rigorously avoided : 
also politics ; and my Lord Protector’s government, 
his dictatorship and ever-growing tyranny: but he 
knew the name of every flower that grew in meadow 
or woodland, the note of every bird as it trilled its 
song. 

There is no doubt that but for the advent of that 
mysterious personality into Acol village, the deep 
friendship which had grown in Sue’s heart for Rich- 
ard Lambert would have warmed into a more pas- 
sionate attachment. 

But she was too young to reflect, too impulsive to 
analyse her feelings. The mystery which surrounded 
the foreigner who lodged at the Quakeress’ cottage 
had made strong appeal to her idealism. 

His first introduction to her notice, in the wood*» 
beyond the park gate on that cold January evening, 
with the moon gleaming weirdly through the 
branches of the elms, his solitary figure leaning 
against a tree, had fired her imagination and set it 
wildly galloping after mad fantasies. 

He had scarcely spoken on that first occasion, but 
his silence was strangely impressive. She made up 
her mind that he was singularly handsome, although 


54 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


she could not judge of that very clearly for he wore 
a heavy moustache, and a shade over one eye : but he 
was tall, above the average, and carried the elaborate 
habiliments which the Cavaliers still affected, with 
consummate grace and ease. She thought, too, that 
the thick perruque became him very well, and his 
muffled voice, when he spoke, sounded singularly 
sweet. 

Since then she had seen him constantly. At rare 
intervals at first, for maidenly dignity forbade that 
she should seem eager to meet him. He was igno- 
rant of who she was — oh ! of that she felt quite, quite 
sure : she always wore a dark tippet round her 
shoulders, and a hood to cover her head. He seemed 
pleased to see her, just to hear her voice. Obviously 
he was lonely and in deep trouble. 

Then one night — it was the first balmy evening 
after the winter frosts — the moon was singularly 
bright, and the hood had fallen back from her head, 
just as her face was tilted upwards and her eyes 
glowing with enthusiasm. Then she knew that he 
had learnt to love her, not through any words which 
he spoke, for he was silent: his face was in shadow, 
and he did not even touch her: therefore it was not 
through any of her natural senses that she guessed 
his love. Yet she knew it, and her young heart was 
overfilled with happiness. 

That evening when they parted he knelt at her 
feet and kissed the hem of her kirtle. After which, 
when she was back again in her own little room at 
Acol Court, she cried for very joy. 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ELMS 55 


They did not meet very often. Once a week at 
most. He had vaguely promised to tell her, some 
day, of his great work for the regeneration of 
France, which he was carrying out in loneliness and 
exile here in England, a work far greater and more 
comprehensive than that which had .secured for Eng- 
land religious and political liberty ; this work it was 
which made him a wanderer on the face of the earth 
and caused his frequent and lengthy absence from 
the cottage in which he lodged. 

She was quite content for the moment with these 
vague promises : in her heart she was evolving en- 
chanting plans for the future, when she would be his 
helpmate in this great and mysterious work. 

In the meanwhile she was satisfied to live in the 
present, to console and comfort the noble exile, to 
lavish on him the treasures of her young and inno- 
cent love, to endow him in her imagination with all 
those mental and physical attributes which her 
romantic nature admired most. 

The spring had come, clothing the weird branches 
of the elms with tender garbs of green, the anemones 
in the woods yielded to the blue bells and these to 
carpets of primroses and violets. The forests of 
Thanet echoed with songs of linnets and white- 
throats. She was happy and she was in love. 

With the lengthened days came some petty sor- 
rows. He was obviously worried, sometimes even 
impatient. Their meetings became fewer and 
shorter, for the evening hours were brief. She found 


56 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

it difficult to wander out .so late across the park, un- 
perceived, and he would never meet her by daylight. 

This no doubt had caused him to fret. He loved 
her and desired her all his own. Yet ’twere useless 
of a surety to ask Sir Marmaduke’s consent to her 
marriage with her French prince. He would never 
give it, and until she came of age he had absolute 
power over her choice of a husband. 

She had explained this to him and he had sighed 
and murmured angry words, then pressed her with 
increased passion to his heart. 

To-night as she walked through the park, she was 
conscious — for the first time perhaps — of a certain 
alloy mixed with her gladness. Yet she loved him — oh 
yes ! just, just as much as ever. The halo of 
romance with which she had framed in his mystic 
personality was in no way dimmed, but in a sense 
she almost feared him, for at times his muffled voice 
sounded singularly vehement, and his words betrayed 
the uncontrolled violence of his nature. 

She had hoped to bring him some reassuring news 
anent Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse’s intentions with 
regard to herself, but the conversation round the 
skittle-alley, her guardian’s cruel allusions to “ the 
foreign adventurer ” had shown her how futile were 
such hopes. 

Yet, there were only three months longer of this 
weary waiting. Surely he could curb his impatience 
until she was of age and mistress of her own handl 
Surely he trusted her! 

She sighed as this thought crossed her mind, and 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ELMS 57 

nearly fell up against a dark figure which detached 
itself from among the trees. 

“ Master Lambert ! 99 she said, uttering a little cry 
of surprise, pressing her hand against her heart 
which was palpitating with emotion. 46 1 had no 
thought of meeting you here.” 

44 And I still less of seeing your ladyship,” he re- 
joined coldly. 

46 How cross you are,” she retorted with childish 
petulance, 44 what have I done that you should be so 
unkind? ” 

44 Unkind?” 

44 Aye ! I had meant to speak to you of this ere 
now — but you always avoid me . . . you scarce 

will look at me . . . and . . . and I 

wished to ask you if I had offended you? ” 

They were standing on a soft carpet of moss, 
overhead the gentle summer breeze stirred the great 
branches of the elms, causing the crisp leaves to mut- 
ter a long-drawn hush-sh-sh in the stillness of the 
night. From far away came the appealing call of a 
blackbird chased by some marauding owl, whilst on 
the ground close by, the creaking of tiny branches 
betrayed the quick scurrying of a squirrel. From 
the remote and infinite distance came the subdued 
roar of the sea. 

The peace of the woodland, the sighing of the 
trees, the dark evening sky above filled his heart with 
an aching longing for her. 

44 Offended me? ” he murmured, passing his hand 
across his forehead, for his temples throbbed and his 


58 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

eyes were burning. “Nay! why should you think 
so?” 

“You are so cold, so distant now,” she said gently. 
“We were such good friends when first I came here. 
Thanet is a strange country to me. It seems weird 
and unkind — the woods are dark and lonely, that 
persistent sound of the .sea fills me with a strange 
kind of dread. . . . My home was among the 

Surrey hills you know. . . . It is far from here. 

. . . I cannot afford to lose a friend. . . .” 

She sighed, a quaint, wistful little sigh, curiously 
out of place, he thought, in this exquisite mouth 
framed only for smiles. 

“ I have so few real friends,” she added in a 
whisper, so low, that he thought she had not spoken, 
and that the elms had sighed that pathetic phrase 
into his ear. 

“ Believe me, Lady Sue, I am neither cold nor dis- 
tant,” he said, almost smiling now, for the situation 
appeared strange indeed, that this beautiful young 
girl, rich, courted, surrounded by an army of 
sycophants, should be appealing to a poor dependent 
for friendship. “ I am only a little dazed . 
as any man would be who had been dreaming . 
and saw that dream vanish away. . . .” 

“ Dreaming? ” 

“ Yes ! — we all dream sometimes you know . 
and a penniless man like myself, without prospects or 
friends is methinks more prone to it than most.” 

“We all have dreams sometimes,” she said, speak- 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ELMS 59 

ing very low, whilst her eyes sought to pierce the 
darkness beyond the trees. 44 1 too . . .” 

She paused abruptly, and was quite still for a 
moment, almost holding her breath, he thought, as 
if she were listening. But not a sound came to dis- 
turb the silence of the woods. Blackbird and owl 
had ceased their fight for life, the squirrel had gone 
to rest: the evening air was filled only by the great 
murmur of the distant sea. 

44 Tell me your dream,” she said abruptly. 

44 Alas ! it is too foolish ! . . . too mad ! 

too impossible. . . .” 

44 But you said once that you would be my friend 
and would try to cheer my loneliness.” 

44 So I will, with all my heart, an you will permit.” 

44 Yet is there no friendship without confidence,” 
she retorted. 44 Tell me your dream.” 

“What were the use? You would only laugh 
. . . and justly too.” 

44 I should never laugh at that, which made you 
sad,” she said gently. 

44 Sad? ” he rejoined with a short laugh, which had 
something of his usual bitterness in it. 44 Sad? 
Mayhap ! Yet I hardly know. Think you that the 
poor peasant lad would be sad because he had 
dreamed that the fairy princess whom he had seen 
from afar in her radiance, was sweet and gracious to 
him one midsummer’s day? It was only a dream re- 
member : when he woke she had vanished . 
gone out of his sight . . . hidden from him by 


60 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

a barrie rof gold. ... In front of this barrier 
stood his pride . . . which perforce would have 

to be trampled down and crushed ere he could reach 
the princess.” 

She did not reply. Only bent her sweet head, lest 
he should perceive the tears which had gathered in 
her eyes. All round them the wood seemed to have 
grown darker and more dense whilst from afar the 
weird voice of that distant sea murmured of infinity 
and of the relentlessness of Fate. 

They could not see one another very clearly, yet 
she knew that he was gazing at her, with an intensity 
of love and longing in his heart, which caused hei; 
own to ache with sympathy: and he knew that she 
was crying, that there was something in that seem- 
ingly brilliant and happy young life, which caused 
that exquisite head to droop as if under a load of 
sorrow. 

A broken .sigh escaped her lips, or was it the sigh- 
ing of the wind in the elms? 

He was smitten with remorse to think that he 
should have helped to make her cry. 

“ Sue — my little, beautiful Sue,” he murmured, 
himself astonished at his own temerity in thus dar- 
ing to address her. It was her grief which had 
brought her down to his level: the instinct of chiv- 
alry, of protection, of friendship which had raised 
him up to hers. 

“ Will you ever forgive me? ” he said, “ I had no 
right to speak to you a s I have done. . . . And 

yet . . ” 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ELMS 61 

He paused and she repeated his last two words — 
gently, encouragingly. 

“ And yet . . . good master? ” 

“ Yet at times, when I see the crowd of young, 
empty-headed fortune-seeking jackanapes, who dare 
to aspire to your ladyship’s hand ... I have 
asked myself whether perchance I had the right to 
remain silent, whilst they poured their farrago of 
nonsense into your ear. I love you, Sue ! ” 

“ No! no! good master! ” she ejaculated hurriedly, 
whilst a nameless, unexplainable fear seemed suddenly 
to be holding her in its grip, as he uttered those few 
very simple words which told the old, old tale. 

But those words once uttered, Richard felt that 
he could not now draw back. The jealously-guarded 
secret had escaped his lips, passion refused to be 
held longer in check. A torrent of emotion overmas- 
tered him. He forgot where he was, the darkness of 
the night, the lateness of the hour, the melancholy 
murmur of the wind in the trees, he forgot that she 
was rich and he a poor dependent, he only remem- 
bered that she was exquisitely fair and that he — 
poor fool ! — was mad enough to worship her. 

It was very dark now, for a bank of clouds hid 
the glory of the evening sky, and he only could see 
the mere outline of the woman whom he so passion- 
ately loved, the small head with the fluttering curls 
fanned by the wind, the graceful shoulders and arms 
folded primly across her bosom. 

He put out his hand and found hers. Oh ! the de- 
light of raising it to his lips. 


62 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


“ By the heaven above us, Sue, by all my hopes of 
salvation I swear to you that my love is pure and 
selfless,” he murmured tenderly, all the while that 
her fragrant little hand was pressed against his lips. 
“ But for your fortune, I had come to you long ago 
and said to you ‘ Let me work for you ! — My love 
will help me to carve a fortune for you, which it shall 
be my pride to place at your feet.’ — Every nameless 
child, so ’tis said, may be a king’s son . . . and 

I, who have no name that I can of verity call mine 
own — no father— no kith or kindred — I would con- 
quer a kingdom, Sue, if you but loved me too.” 

His voice broke in a sob. Ashamed of his out- 
burst he tried to hide his confusion from her, by 
sinking on one knee on that soft carpet of moss. 
From the little village of Acol beyond the wood, came 
the sound of the church bell striking the hour of 
nine. Sue was silent and absorbed, intensely sorrow- 
ful to see the grief of her friend. He was quite 
lost in the shadows at her feet now, but she could 
hear the stem efforts which he made to resume con- 
trol over himself and his voice. 

“ Richard . . . good Richard,” she said 

soothingly, “ believe me, I am very, very sorry for 
this. ... I ... I vow I did not know. 

. . . I had no thought — how could I have? that 

you cared for me like . . . like this. 

You believe me, good master, do you not? ” she en- 
treated. “ Say that you believe me, when I say that 
I would not willingly have caused you such grief.” 

“ I believe that you are the most sweet and pure 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ELMS 63 

woman in all the world,” he murmured fervently, 
“ and that you are as far beyond my reach as are the 
stars.” 

“ Nay, nay, good master, you must not talk like 
that. . . . Truly, truly I am only a weak and 

foolish girl, and quite unworthy of your deep devo- 
tion . . . and you must try . . . indeed, 

indeed you must ... to forget what happened 
under these trees to-night.” 

“ Of that I pray you have no fear,” he replied 
more calmly, as he rose and once more stood before 
her — a dark figure in the midst of the dark wood — 
immovable, almost impassive, with head bent and 
arms folded across his chest. “ Nathless ’tis foolish 
for a nameless peasant even to talk of his honour, yet 
’tis mine honour, Lady Sue, which will ever help me 
to remember that a mountain of gold and vast 
estates stand between me and the realisation of my 
dream.” 

“No, no,” she rejoined earnestly, “it is not that 
only. You are my friend, good Richard, and I do 
not wish to see you eating out your heart in vain and 
foolish regrets. What you . . . what you wish 

could never — never be. Good master, if you were 
rich to-morrow and I penniless, I could never be your 
wife.” 

“ You mean that you could never love me? ” he 
asked. 

She was silent. A fierce wave of jealousy — mad, 
insane, elemental jealousy seemed suddenly to sweep 
over him. 


64 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


“ You love some one else? 99 he demanded brusquely. 

“ What right have you to ask? ” 

“ The right of a man who would gladly die to see 
you happy.” 

He spoke harshly, almost brutally. Jealousy had 
killed all humility in him. Love — proud, passionate 
and defiant — stood up for its just claims, for its 
existence, its right to dominate, its desire to con- 
quer. 

But even as he thus stood before her, almost 
frightening her now by the violence of his speech, 
by the latent passion in him, which no longer would 
bear to be held in check, the bank of clouds which 
up to now had obscured the brilliance of the sum- 
mer sky, finally swept away eastwards, revealing the 
luminous firmament and the pale crescent moon 
which now glimmered coldly through the branches of 
the trees. 

A muffled sound as of someone treading cautiously 
the thick bed of moss, and the creaking of tiny twigs 
caused Richard Lambert to look up momentarily 
from the form of the girl whom he so dearly loved, 
and to peer beyond her into the weirdly illumined 
density of the wood. 

Not twenty yards from where they were a low wall 
divided the park itself from the wood beyond which 
extended down to Acol village. At an angle of the 
wall there was an iron gate, also the tumble-down 
pavilion, ivy grown and desolate, with stone steps 
leading up to it, through the cracks of which weeds 
and moss sprouted up apace. 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ELMS 65 


A man had just emerged from out the thicket and 
was standing now to the farther side of the gate 
looking straight at Lambert and at Sue who stood 
in the full light of the moon. A broad-brimmed hat, 
such as cavaliers affected, cast a dark shadow over 
his face. 

It was a mere outline only vaguely defined against 
the background of ' trees, but in that outline Lam- 
bert had already recognised the mysterious stranger 
who lodged in his brother’s cottage down in Acol. 

The fixed intensity of the young man’s gaze caused 
Sue to turn and to look in the same direction. She 
saw the stranger, who encountering two pairs of 
eyes fixed on him, raised his hat with a graceful 
flourish of the arm : then, with a short ironical laugh, 
went his way, and was once more lost in the gloom. 

The girl instinctively made a movement as if to 
follow him, whilst a quickly smothered cry — half of 
joy and half of fear — escaped her lips. She 
checked the movement as well as the cry, but not 
before Richard Lambert had perceived both. 

With the perception came the awful, overwhelming 
certitude. 

44 That adventurer ! ” he exclaimed involuntarily. 
“ Oh my God!” 

But she looked him full in the face, and threw 
back her head with a gesture of pride and of wrath. 

44 Master Lambert,” she said haughtily, 44 methinks 
’twere needless to remind you that — since I inad- 
vertently revealed my most cherished secret to you — i 


66 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


it were unworthy a man of honour to betray it to 
any one.” 

“ My lady . . . Sue,” he .said, feeling half- 

dazed, bruised and crushed by the terrible moral blow, 
which he had just received, I ... I do not 
quite understand. Will you deign to explain.” 

“ There is naught to explain,” she retorted coldly. 
“ Prince Amede d’Orleans loves me and I have 
plighted my troth to him.” 

“Nay! I entreat your ladyship,” he said, feeling 
— knowing the while how useless it was to make an 
appeal against the infatuation of a hot-headed and 
impulsive girl, yet speaking with the courage which 
ofttimes is born of despair, “ I beg of you, on my 
knees to listen. This foreign adventurer . . .” 

“ Silence,” she retorted proudly, and drawing 
back from him, for of a truth he had sunk on his 
knees before her, “ an you desire to be my friend, 
you must not breathe one word of slander against 
the man I love. . . .” 

Then, as he said nothing, realising, indeed, how 
futile would be any effort or word from him, she 
said, with growing enthusiasm, whilst her glowing 
eyes fixed themselves into the gloom which had en- 
veloped the mysterious apparition of her lover: 

“ Prince Amede d’Orleans is the grandest, most 
selfless patriot this world hath ever known. For 
the sake of France, of tyrannised, oppressed France, 
whom he adores, he has sacrificed everything! his 
position, his home, his wealth and vast estates : he is 
own kinsman to King Louis, yet he is exiled from hi§ 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ELMS 67 

country whilst a price is set upon his head, because 
he cannot be mute whilst he sees tyranny and oppres- 
sion grind down the people of France. He could re- 
turn to Paris to-day a rich and free man, a prince 
among his kindred, — if he would but sacrifice that 
for which he fights so bravely: the liberty of 
France!” 

“ Sue ! my adored lady,” he entreated, “ in the 
name of Heaven listen to me. . . . You do be- 

lieve do you not that I am your friend? ... I 
would give my life for you. ... I swear to 
you that you have been deceived and tricked by this 
adventurer, who, preying upon your romantic iinag 7 
ination . . .” 

“ Silence, master, an you value my friendship,” 
she commanded. “ I will not listen to another 
word. Nay! you should be thankful that I deal not 
more harshly with you — that I make allowances for 
your miserable jealousy. . . . Oh! why did you 

make me say that,” she added with one of those 
swift changes of mood, which were so characteristic 
of her, and with sudden contrition, for an invob 
untary moan had escaped his lips. “ In the name 
of Heaven, go — go now I entreat . . . leave 

me to myself . . . lest anger betray me into 

saying cruel things ... I am safe — quite 
safe ... I entreat you to let me return to 
the house alone.” 

Her voice sounded more and more broken as she 
spoke: sobs were evidently rising in her throat. He 
pulled himself together, feeling that it were unmanly 


68 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


to worry her now, when emotion was so obviously 
overmastering her. 

44 Forgive me, sweet lady,” he said quite gently, 
as he rose from his knees. 44 I said more than I had 
any right to say. I entreat you to forgive the poor, 
presuming peasant who hath dared to raise his eyes 
to the fairy princess of his dreams. I pray you to 
try and forget all that hath happened to-night 
beneath the shadows of these elms — and only to re- 
member one thing; that my life — my lonely humble, 
unimportant life — is yours ... to serve or 
help you, to Worship or comfort you if need be 
and that there could be no greater hap- 
piness for me than to give it for your sweet sake.” 

He bowed very low, until his hand could reach the 
hem of her kirtle, which he then raised to his lips. 
She was infinitely sorry for him, all her anger against 
him had vanished. 

He was very reluctant to go, for this portion of 
the park was some distance from the house. But she 
had commanded and he quite understood that she 
wished to be alone: love such as that which he felt 
for his sweet lady is ever watchful, yet ever discreet. 
Was it not natural that she did not care to look on 
him after he had angered her so? 

She seemed impatient too, and although her feel- 
ings towards him had softened, she repeated some- 
what nervously : 44 1 pray you go ! Good master, I 

would wish to be alone.” 

Lambert hesitated a while longer, he looked all 
round him as if suspicious of any marauders that 


THE STRANGER WITHIN THE GATES 69 


might be lurking about. The hour was not very 
late, and had she not commanded him to go? 

Nor would he seem to pry on her movements. Hav- 
ing once made up his mind to obey, he did so without 
reserve. Having kissed the hem of her kirtle he 
turned towards the house. 

He meant to keep on the tiny footpath, which she 
would be bound to traverse after him, when she re- 
turned. He felt sure that something would warn 
him if she really needed his help. 

The park and woodland were still : only the mourn- 
ful hooting of an owl, the sad sighing of the wind in 
the old elms broke the peaceful silence of this sum- 
mer’s night. 




) 


l 



CHAPTER VII 


THE STRANGER WITHIN THE GATES 


S UE waited — expectant and still — until the 
last sound of the young man’s footsteps died 
away in the direction of the house. 

Then with quick impulsive movements she ran to 
the gate; her hands sought impatiently in the dark 
for the primitive catch which held it to. A large and 
rusty bolt ! she pulled at it — clumsily, for her hands 
were trembling. At last the gate flew open ; she was 
out in the woods, peering into the moon-lit thicket, 
listening for that most welcome sound, the footsteps 
of the In an she loved. 

44 My prince ! ” she exclaimed, for already he was 
beside her — apparently he had lain in wait for her, 
and now held her in his arms. 

44 My beautiful and gracious lady,” he murmured 
in that curiously muffled voice of his, which seemed 
to endow his strange personality with additional 
mystery. 

44 You heard? . . . you saw just now? 

• • . ” she asked timidly fearful of encounter- 

ing his jealous wrath, that vehement temper of his 
which she had learned to dread. 

Strangely enough he replied quite gently: 

44 Yes ... I saw . . . the young 


70 


THE STRANGER WITHIN THE GATES 71 


man loves you, my beautiful Suzanne ! 
and he will hate me now . . . ” 

He had always called her Suzanne — and her name 
thus spoken by him, and with that quaint foreign 
intonation of his had always sounded infinitely sweet. 

“ But I love you with all my heart,” she said 
earnestly, tenderly, her whole soul — young, ardent, 
full of romance, going out to him with all the 
strength of its purity and passion. “What matter 
if all the world were against you? ” 

As a rule when they met thus on the confines of the 
wood, they would stand together by the gate, form- 
ing plans, talking of the future and of their love. 
Then after awhile they would stroll into the park, 
he escorting her, as far as he dared approach to the 
house without being seen. 

She had no thought that Richard Lambert would 
be on the watch. Nay! so wholly absorbed was she 
in her love for this man, once she was in his presence, 
that already — womanlike — she had forgotten the 
young student’s impassioned avowal, his jealousy, 
his very existence. 

And she loved these evening strolls in the great, 
peaceful park, at evening, when the birds were silent 
in their nests, and the great shadows of ivy-covered 
elms enveloped her and her romance. From afar a 
tiny light gleamed here and there in some of the 
windows of Acol Court. 

She had hated the grim, bare house at first, sq 
isolated in the midst of the forests of Thanet, so like 
the eyrie of a bird of prey. 


72 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


But now she loved the whole place; the bit of ill- 
kept tangled garden, with its untidy lawn and weed- 
covered beds, in which a few standard rose-trees 
strove to find a permanent home ; she loved the dark 
and mysterious park, the rusty gate, that wood with 
its rich carpet which varied as each season came 
round. 

To-night her lover was more gentle than had been 
his wont o flate. They walked cautiously through 
the park, for the moon was brilliant and outlined 
every object was startling vividness. The trees here 
were sparser. Close by was the sunk fence and the 
tiny rustic bridge — only a plank or two — which 
spanned it. 

Some thirty yards ahead of them they could see 
the dark figure of Richard Lambert walking towards 
the house. 

“ One more stroll beneath the trees ma mie,” he 
said lightly, “you’ll not wish to encounter your 
ardent suitor again.” 

She loved him in this brighter mood, when he had 
thrown from him that mantle of jealousy and mis- 
trust which of late had sat on him so ill. 

He seemed to have set to himself the task of 
pleasing her to-night — of making her forget mayhap 
the wooing of the several suitors who had hung round 
her to-day. He talked to her — always in that 
mysterious, muffled voice, with the quaint rolling of 
the r’s and the foreign intonation of the vowels — 
he talked to her of King Louis and his tyranny over 
the people of France: of his own political aims to 


THE STRANGER WITHIN THE GATES 73 

which he had already sacrificed fortune, position, 
home. Of his own brilliant past at the most luxurious 
court the world had ever known. He fired her en- 
thusiasm, delighted her imagination, enchained her 
soul to his : she was literally swept off the prosy face 
of this earth and whirled into a realm of romance, 
enchanting, intoxicating, mystic — almost divine. 

She forgot fleetin gtime, and did not even hear 
the church bell over at Acol village striking the 
hour of ten. 

He had to bring her back to earth, and to guide 
her reluctant footsteps back towards the house. But 
she was too happy to part from him so easily. She 
forced him to escort her over the little bridge, under 
the pretence of terror at the lateness of the hour. 
She vowed that he could not be perceived from the 
house, since all the lights were out, and every one 
indeed must be abed. Her guardian’s windows more- 
over gave on the other side of the house: and he of 
a surety would not be moon or star gazing at this 
hour of the night. 

Her mood was somewhat reckless. The talk with 
which he had filled her ears had gone to her brain 
like wine. She felt intoxicated with the atmosphere 
of mystery, of selfless patriotism, of great and fallen 
fortunes, wit hwhich he knew so well how to surround 
himself. Mayhap that in her innermost heart now 
there was a scarce conscious desire to precipitate a 
crisis, to challenge discovery, to step boldly before 
her guardian, avowing her love, demanding the right 
to satisfy it. 


74 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


She refused to bid him adieu save at the garden 
door. Three steps led up straight into the dining- 
room from the flagged pathway which skirted the 
house. She ran up these steps, silently and swiftly 
as a little mouse, and then turned her proud and 
happy face to him. 

44 Good night, sweet prince,” she whispered, ex- 
tending her delicate hand to him. 

She stood in the full light of the moon dominating 
him from the top of the steps, an exquisite vision of 
youth and beauty and romance. 

He took off his broad-brimmed hat, but his face 
was still in shadow, for the heavy perruque fell in 
thick dark curls covering both his cheeks. He bent 
very low and kissed the tips of her fingers. 

44 When shall we meet again my prince?” she 
asked. 

44 This day week, an it please you, my Queen,” he 
murmured. 

And then he turned to go. She meant to stand 
there and watch him cross the tangled lawn, and the 
little bridge, and to see him lose himself amidst the 
great shadows of the park. 

But he had scarce gone a couple of steps when a 
voice, issuing from the doorway close behind her, 
caused her to turn in quick alarm. 

44 Sue ! in the name of Heaven ! what doth your 
ladyship here and at this hour? ” 

The crisis which the young girl had almost chal- 
lenged, had indeed occurred. Mistress de Chavasse 
— carrying a lighted and guttering candle was 


PRINCE AMEDE D’ORLEANS 75 


standing close behind her. At the sound of her voice 
and Sue’s little cry of astonishment rather than fear, 
Prince Amede d’Orleans too had paused, with a mut- 
tered curse on his lips, his foot angrily tapping the 
flagstones. 

But it were unworthy a gallant gentleman of the 
most chivalrous Court in the world to beat a retreat 
when his mistress was in danger of an unpleasant 
quarter of an hour. 

Sue was more than a little inclined to be defiant. 

“ Mistress de Chavasse,” she said quietly, “ will 
you be good enough to explain by what right you 
have spied on me to-night? Hath my guardian per- 
chance set you to dog my footsteps ? ” 

“ There was no thought in my mind of spying on 
your ladyship,” rejoined Mrs. de Chavasse coldly. 
“ I was troubled in my sleep and came downstairs 
because I heard a noise, and feared those midnight 
marauders of which we have heard so much of late. 
I myself had locked this door, and was surprised to 
find it unlatched. I opened it and saw you standing 
there.” 

“ Then we’ll all to bed, fair mistress,” rejoined 
Sue gaily. She was too happy, too sure of herself 
and of her lover to view this sudden discovery of her 
secret with either annoyance or alarm. She would 
be free in three months, and he would be faithful to 
her. Love proverbially laughs at bars and bolts, and 
even if her stern guardian, apprised of her evening 
wanderings prevented her from seeing her prince 


76 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


fo rthe next three months, pshaw ! a hundred days at 
most, and nothing could keep her from his side. 

44 Good-night, fair prince,” she repeated tenderly, 
extending her hand towards her lover once more, 
whilst throwing a look of proud defiance to Mrs. de 
Chavasse. He could not help but return to the foot 
of the steps: any pusillanimity on his part at this 
juncture, any reluctance to meet Editha face to face 
or to bear the brunt of her reproaches and of her 
sneers might jeopardise the romance of his person- 
ality in the eyes of Sue. Therefore he boldly took 
her hand, and kissed it with mute fervour. 

She gave a happy little laugh and added pertly : 

44 Good-night, mistress . . . I’ll leave you 

to make your own adieux to Monseigneur le Prince 
d’Orleans. I’ll warrant that you and he — despite 
the lateness of the hour — will have much to say to 
one another.” 

And without waiting to watch the issue of her 
suggestion her eyes dancing with mischief, she turned 
and ran singing and laughing into the house. 


I 


CHAPTER VIII 


PRINCE AMEDE D ’ORLEANS 

T first it seemed as if the stranger meant to 



beat a precipitate and none too dignified re- 
treat now that the adoring eyes of Lady Sue were no 
longer upon him. But Mrs, de Chavasse had no in- 
tention of allowing him to extricate himself quite so 
easily from an unpleasant position. 

“ One moment, Master,” she said loudly and per- 
emptorily. “ Prince or whatever you may wish to 
call yourself . . . ere you show me a clean 

pair of heels, I pray you to explain your presence 
here on Sir Marmaduke’s doorstep at ten o’clock at 
night, and in company with his ward.” 

For a moment — a second or two only — the 
stranger appeared to hesitate. He paused with one 
foot still on the lowest of the stone steps, the other 
on the flagged path, his head bent, his hand up- 
raised in the act of re-adjusting his broad-brimmed 


hat. 


Then a sudden thought seemed to strike him, he 
threw back his head, gave a short laugh as if he were 
pleased with this new thought, then turned, meeting 
Mrs. de Chavasse’s stem gaze squarely and fully. 
He threw his hat down onto the steps and crossed 
his arms over his chest. 

“ Two minutes, mistress ? ” he said with an ironical 


77 


78 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


bow. “ I do not need two minutes. I have already 
explained.” 

“Explained? how?” she retorted, “nay! I’ll not 
be trifled with, master, and methinks you will find 
that Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse will expect some 
explanation — which will prove unpleasant to yourself 
— for your unwarrantable impudence in daring to 
approach his ward.” 

He put up his hand in gentle deprecation. 

“Impudence? Oh, mistress!” he said reproach- 
fully. 

“ Let me assure you, master,” she continued with 
relentless severity, “ that you were wise an you re- 
turned straightway to your lodgings now 
packed your worldly goods and betook yourself and 
them to anywhere you please.” 

“ Ah ! ” he sighed gently, “ that is impossible.” 

“ You would dare? . . . ” she retorted. 

“ I would dare remain there, where my humble 
presence is most desired — beside the gracious lady 
who honours me with her love.” 

“ You are insolent, master . . . and Sir 

Marmaduke . . . ” 

“ Oh! ” he rejoined lightly, “ Sir Marmaduke doth 
not object.” 

“ There, I fear me, you are in error, master ! and 
in his name I now forbid you ever to attempt to speak 
to Lady Susannah Aldmarshe again.” 

This command, accompanied by a look of wither- 
ing scorn, seemed to afford the stranger vast enter- 
tainment. He made the wrathful lady a low, ironical 


PRINCE AMEDE D’ORLEANS 79 

bow, and clapped his hands together laughing and 
exclaiming : 

“ Brava ! brava ! of a truth but this is excellent ! 
Pray mistress will you deign to tell me if in this your 
bidding you have asked Sir Marmaduke for his 
opinion? ” 

44 I need not to ask him. I ask you to go.” 

“ Go? Whither? ” he asked blandly. 

“ Out of my sight and off these grounds at once, 
ere I rouse the servants and have you whipped off 
like a dog ! ” she said, angered beyond measure at 
his audacity, his irony, his manner, suggestive of 
insolent triumph. His muffled voice with its curious 
foreign accent irritated her, as did the shadow of his 
perruque over his brow, and the black silk shade 
which he wore over one eye. 

Even now in response to her violent outburst he 
broke into renewed laughter. 

44 Better and better ! Ah ! mistress,” he said with 
a shake o fthe head, 44 of a truth you are more blind 
that I thought.” 

44 You are more insolent, Master ,than I had 
thought possible.” 

44 Yet meseems, fair lady, that in the lonely and 
mysterious stranger you might have remembered 
your humble and devoted servant,” he said drawing 
his figure up towards her. 

44 You! an old friend! ” she said contemptuously. 
44 1 have ne’er set eyes on you in my life before.” 

44 To think that the moon should be so treacher- 
ous,” he rejoined imperturbably. 44 Will you not look 


80 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


a little closer, fair mistress, the shadows are some- 
what dark, mayhap.” 

She felt his one eye fixed upon her with cold in- 
tentness, a strange feeling of superstitious dread 
suddenly crept over her from head to foot. Like a 
bird fascinated by a snake she came a little nearer, 
down the steps, towards him, her eyes too rivetted 
on his face, that curious face of his, surrounded by 
the heavy perruque hiding ears and cheeks, the mouth 
overshadowed by the dark moustache, one eye con- 
cealed beneath the black silk shade. 

He seemed amused at her terror and as she came 
nearer to him, he too advanced a little until their eyes 
met — his, mocking, amused, restless ; hers, intent 
and searching. 

Thus they gazed at one another for a few seconds, 
whilst silence reigned around and the moon peered 
down cold and chaste from above illumining the old 
house, the neglected garden, the vast park with its 
innumerable dark secrets and the mysteries which it 
hid. 

She was the first to step back, to recoil before the 
ironical intensity of that fixed gaze. She felt as if 
she were in a dream, as if a nightmare assailed her, 
which in her wakeful hours would be dissipated by 
reason, by commonsense, by sound and sober fact. 

She even passed her hand across her eyes as if to 
sweep away from before her vision, a certain image 
which fancy had conjured up. 

His laugh — strident and mocking — roused her 
from this dreamlike state. 


PRINCE AMEDE D’ORLEANS 81 

44 I • I . , do not understand,” 

she murmured. 

44 Yet it is so simple,” he replied, 44 did you not ask 
me awhile ago if nothing could be done? ” 

44 Who . . . who are you ? ” she whispered, 

and then repeated once again : 44 Who are you? ” 

44 lam H. R. H. prince Amede d’Orleans,” said 
Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse lightly, 44 the kinsman 
of H. M. King Louis of France, the mysterious 
foreigner who works for the religious and political 
freedom of his country, and on whose head le roi 
soleil hath set a price . . . and who, more- 
over, hath enflamed the romantic imagination of a 
beautiful young girl, thus winning her ardent love 
in the present and in the near future together with 
her vast fortune and estates.” 

He made a movement as if to remove his perruque 
but she stopped him with a gesture. She had un- 
derstood. And in the brilliant moonlight a complete 
revelation of his personality might prove dangerous. 
Lady Sue herself might still — for aught they knew 
— be standing in the dark room behind — unseen yet 
on the watch. 

He seemed vastly amused at her terror, and boldly 
took the hand with which she had arrested his act of 
total revelation. 

44 Nay! do you recognise your humble servant at 
last, fair Editha ? ” he queried. 44 On my honour, 
Madam, Lady Sue is deeply enamoured of me. What 
think you of my chances now? ” 

44 Yoil? You? ” she repeated at intervals mechan- 


82 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


ically, dazed still, lost in a whirl of conflicting emo- 
tions wherein fear, amazement, and a certain vein of 
superstitious horror fought a hard battle in her dizzy 
brain. 

“ The risks,” -she murmured more coherently. 
“Bah!” 

“ If she discover you, before . . . be- 
fore . . 

“ Before she is legally my wife? Pshaw! 

Then of a truth my scheme will come to naught 
But will you not own, Editha, that ’tis 
worth the risk?” 

“ And afterwards ? ” she asked, “ afterwards ? ” 

“ Afterwards, mistress,” he repoined enigmatic- 
ally, “ afterwards sits on the knees of the gods.” 

And with a flourish of his broad-brimmed hat he 
turned on his heel and anon was lost in the shadows 
of the tall yew hedge. 

How long she stood there watching that spot 
whereon he had been standing, she could not say. 
Presently she shivered, the night had turned cold. 
She heard the cry of some small bird attacked by a 
midnight prowler ; was it the sparrow-hawk after its 
prey? 

From the other side of the house came the sound 
of slow and firm footsteps, then the opening and 
shutting of a door. 

Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had played his part 
for to-night: silently as he had gone, so he returned 
to his room, whilst in another comer of the sparrow- 
hawk’s nest a young girl slept, dreaming dreams of 


PRINCE AMEDE D’ORLEANS 83 

patriots and heroes, of causes nobly won, of poverty 
and obscurity gloriously endured. 

Mrs. de Chavasse with a sigh half of regret, half 
of indifference finally turned her back on the moon- 
lit garden and went within. 


! 


CHAPTER IX 


SECRET SERVICE 

M ASTER HYMN-OF-PRAISE BUSY was ex- 
cessively perturbed. Matters at the Court 
were taking a curious turn. That something of 
unusual moment had happened within the last few 
days he was thoroughly convinced, and still having 
it in his mind that he was specially qualified for the 
lucrative appointments in my Lord Protector’s 
secret service — he thought this an excellent oppor- 
tunity for perfecting himself in the art of investiga- 
tion, shrewdly conducted, which he understood to be 
most essential for the due fulfilment of such appoint- 
ments. 

Thus we see him some few days later on a late 
afternoon, with back bent nearly double, eyes fixed 
steadily on the ground and his face a perfect mirror 
of thoughtful concentration within, slowly walking 
along the tiny footpath which wound in and out the 
groups of majestic elms in the park. 

Musing and meditating, at times uttering strange 
and enigmatical exclamations, he reached the con- 
fines of the private grounds, the spot where the sur- 
rounding wall gave place to a low iron gate, where 
the disused pavilion stood out gre yand forlorn 
looking in the midst of the soft green of the trees, 
and where through the woods beyond the gate, could 
84 


SECRET SERVICE 


85 


just be perceived the tiny light which issued from 
the blacksmith’s cottage, the most outlying one in 
the village of Acol. 

Master Hymn-of-Praise leant thoughtfully 
against the ivy covered wall. His eyes, roaming, 
searching, restless, pried all around him. 

“Footprints!” he mused, “footprints which of a 
surety must mean that human foot hath lately trod 
this moss. Footprints moreover which lead up the 
steps to the door of that pavilion, wherein to my 
certain knowledge no one hath had access of late.” 

Something of course, was going on at Acol Court* 
that strange and unexplainable something which he 
tried to convey by covert suggestion to Misstress 
Charity’s female — therefore inferior — brain. 

Sir Marmaduke’s temper was more sour and ill 
even than of yore, and there was still an unpleasant 
sensation in the lumbar regions of Master Busy’s 
spine, whenever he sat down, which recalled a some- 
what vigorous outburst of his master’s ill-humour. 

Mistress de Chavasse went about the house like a 
country wench frightened by a ghost, and Mistress 
Charity averred that she seldom went to bed now 
before midnight. Certain it is that Master Busy 
himself had met the lady wandering about the house 
candle in hand at an hour when all respectable folk 
should be a-bed, and when she almost fell up against 
Hymn-of-Praise in the dark she gave a frightened 
scream as if she had suddenly come face to face with 
the devil. 

Then there was her young ladyship. 


86 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


She was neither ill-tempered nor jet under the ban 
of fear, but Master Busy vowed unto himself that 
she was suffering from ill-concealed melancholy, from 
some hidden secret or wild romance. She .seldom 
laughed, she spoke with discourtesy and impatience 
to Squire Pyncheon, who rode over the other day on 
purpose of bring her a bunch of sweet marjoram 
which grew in great profusion in his mother’s gar- 
den : she markedly avoided the company of her 
guardian, and wandered about the park alone, at 
all hours of the day — a proceeding which in a young 
lady of her rank was quite unseemly. 

All these facts neatly docketed in Master Busy’s 
orderly brain, disturbed him not a little. He had 
not yet made up his mind as to the nature of the 
mystery which was surrounding the Court and its 
inmates, but vaguely he thought of abductions and 
elopements, which the presence of the richest heiress 
in the South of England in the house of the poorest 
squire in the whole country, more than foreshadowed. 

This lonely, somewhat eerie corner of the park ap- 
peared to be the centre around which all the mys- 
terious happenings revolved, and Master Hymn-of- 
Praise had found his way hither on this fine July 
afternoon, because he had distinct hopes of finding 
out something definite, certain facts which he then 
could place before Squire Boatfield who was major- 
general of the district, and who would then, nathless, 
commend him for his ability and shrewdness in fore- 
stalling what might prove to be a terrible crime. 

The days were getting shorter now; it was little 


SECRET SERVICE 


87 


more than eight o’clock and already the shades of 
evening were drawing closely in : the last rays of the 
setting sun had long disappeared in a glowing haze 
of gold, and the fantastic branches of the old elms, 
intertwined with the parasitic ivy looked grim and 
threatening, silhouetted against the lurid after glow. 
Master Busy liked neither the solitude, nor yet the 
silence of the woods; he had just caught sight of a 
bat circling over the dilapidated roof of the pavilion, 
and he hated bats. Though he belonged to a com- 
munity which denied the angels and ignored the 
saints, he had a firm belief in the existence of a 
tangible devil, and somehow he could not dissociate 
his ideas of hell and of evil spirits from those which 
related to the mysterious flutterings of bats. 

Moreover he thought that his duties in connection 
with the science of secret investigation, had been 
sufficiently fulfilled for the day, and he prepared to 
wend his way back to the house, when the sound of 
voices ,once more aroused his somnolent attention. 

“ Someone,” he murmured within himself, “ the 
heiress and the abductor mayhap.” 

This might prove the opportunity of his life, the 
chance which would place him within the immediate 
notice of the major-general, perhaps of His High- 
ness the Protector himself. He felt that to vacate 
his post of observation at this moment would be un- 
worthy the moral discipline which an incipient serv- 
ant of the Commonwealth should impose upon him- 
self. 

Striving to smother a sense of terror, or to dis- 


88 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


guise it even to himself under the mask of officious- 
ness, he looked about for a hiding place — a post of 
observation as he called it. 

A tree with invitingly forked branches seemed to 
be peculiarly adapted to his needs. Hymn-of-Praise 
was neither very young nor very agile, but dreams 
of coming notoriety lent nimbleness to his limbs. 

By the time that the voices drew nearer, the sober 
butler of Acol Court was installed astride an elm 
bough, hidden by the dense foliage and by the leaf- 
laden strands of ivy, enfolded by the fast gathering 
shadows of evening, supremely uncomfortable physic- 
ally, none too secure on his perch, yet proud and 
satisfied in the consciousness of fulfilled duty. 

The next moment he caught sight of Mistress 
Charity — Mistress Charity so please you, who had 
plighted her troth to him, walking arm in arm with 
Master Courage Toogood, as impudent, insolent and 
debauched a young jackanapes as ever defaced the 
forests of Thanet. 

44 Mistress, fair mistress,” he was sighing, and 
murmuring in her ear, 44 the most beautiful and 
gracious thing on God’s earth, when I hold you 
pressed thus against my beating heart . . .” 

Apparently his feelings were too deep to be ex- 
pressed in the words of his own vocabulary, for he 
paused awhile, sighed audibly and then asked 
anxiously : 

44 You do hear my heart beating, Mistress, do you 
not?” 

She blushed, for she was naught but a female bag- 


SECRET SERVICE 


89 


gage, and though Master Busy’s impassioned pro- 
testations of less than half an hour ago, must be 
still ringing in her ears, she declared emphatically 
that she could hear the throbbing of that young 
vermin’s heart. 

Master Busy up aloft was quite sure that what 
she heard was a few sheep and cattle of Sir Marma- 
duke’s who were out to grass in a field close by, and 
had been scared into a canter. 

What went on for the next moment or two the 
saintly man on the elm tree branch could not rightly 
perceive, but the next words from Mistress Charity’s 
lips, sent a thrill of indignation through his heart. 

“ Oh ! Master Courage,” she said with a little 
cry, “ you must not squeeze me so ! I vow you have 
taken the breath out of my body! The Lord love 
you, child ! think you I can stay here all this while 
and listen to your nonsense? ” 

“ Just one minute longer, fair Mistress,” en- 
treated the young reprobate, “ the moon is not yet 
up, the birds have gone to their nests for sleep, will 
ye not tarry awhile here with me? That old fool 
Busy will never know ! ” 

It is a fact that at this juncture the saintly man 
well-nigh fell off his perch, and when Master Cour- 
age, amidst many coy shrieks from the fickle female, 
managed to darg her down beside him, onto the 
carpet of moss immediately beneath the very tree 
whereon Hymn-of-Praise was holding watch, the un- 
fortunate man had need of all his strength of mind 


90 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


and of purpose not to jump down with both feet 
onto the lying face of that young limb of Satan. 

But he felt that the discovery of his somewhat 
undignified position by these two evil-doers would 
not at this moment be quite opportune, so he en- 
deavoured to maintain his equilibrium at the cost of 
supreme discomfort, and the loud cracking of the 
branch on which he was perched. 

Mistress Charity gave a cry of terror. 

44 What was that ? ” 

44 Nothing, nothing, Mistress, I swear,” rejoined 
Courage reassuringly, 44 there are always noises in 
old elm trees, the ivy hangs heavy and . . .” 

44 I have heard it said of late that the pavilion 
is haunted,” she murmured under her breath. 

44 No ! not haunted, Mistress ! I vow 5 tis but the 
crackling of loose branches, and there is that which 
I would whisper in your ear . . .” 

But before Master Courage had the time to in- 
dulge in this, the desire of his heart, something fell 
onto the top of his lean head which certainly never 
grew on the elm tree overhead. Having struck his 
lanky hair the object fell straight into his lap. 

It was a button. An ordinary, brown, innocent 
enough looking button. But still a button. Master 
Courage took it in his hand and examined it care- 
fully, turning it over once or twice. The little thing 
certainly wore a familiar air. Master Courage of a 
truth had seen such an one before. 

44 That thing never grew up there, Master,” said 
Mistress Charity in an agitated whisper. 


SECRET SERVICE 


91 


“No!” he rejoined emphatically, “nor yet doth 
a button form part of the habiliments of a ghost.” 

But not a sound came from above: and though 
Courage and Charity peered upwards with ever-in- 
creasing anxiety, the fast gathering darkness effec- 
tually hid the mystery which lurked within that elm, 

“ I vow that there’s something up there, Mis- 
tress,” said the youth with sudden determination. 

“Could it be bats, Master?” she queried with a 
shudder. 

“Nay! but bats do not wear buttons,” he replied 
sententiously. “ Yet of a surety, I mean to make an 
investigation of the affair as that old fool Hymn-of- 
Praise would say.” 

Whereupon, heedless of Mistress Charity’s ever- 
growing agitation, he ran towards the boundary wall 
of the park, and vaulted the low gate wit han agile 
jump even as she uttered a pathetic appeal to him, 
not to leave her alone in the dark. 

Fear had rooted the girl to the spot. She dared 
not move away, fearful lest her running might entice 
that mysterious owner of the brown button to hurry 
in her track. Yet she would have loved to follow 
Master Courage, and to put at least a gate and wall 
between herself and those terrible elms. 

She was just contemplating a comprehensive and 
vigorous attack of hysterics when she heard Master 
Courage’s voice from the other side of the gate. 

“ Hist ! Hist, Mistress ! Quick ! ” 

She gathered up what shreds of valour she pos- 


92 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


sessed and ran blindly in the direction whence came 
the welcome voice. 

44 1 pray you take this,” said the youth who was 
holding a wooden bucket out over the gate, 44 whilst 
I climb back to you.” 

44 But what is it, Master? ” she asked, as — obey- 
ing him mechanically — she took the bucket from him. 
It was heavy, for it was filled almost to the brim 
with a liquid which seemed very evil-smelling. 

The next moment Master Courage was standing 
beside her. He took the bucket from her and then 
walked as rapidly as he could with it back towards 
the elm tree. 

44 It will help me to dislodge the bats, Mistress,” 
he said enigmatically, speaking over his shoulder as 
he walked. 

She followed him — excited but timorous — until to- 
gether they once more reached the spot, where Mas- 
ter Courage’s amorous declarations had been so 
rudely interrupted. He put the bucket down beside 
him, and rubbed his hands together whilst uttering 
certain sounds which betrayed his glee. 

Then only did she notice that he was carrying 
under one arm a long curious-looking instrument — 
round and made of tin, with a handle at one end. 

She looked curiously into the bucket and at the 
instrument. 

44 ’Tis the tar-water used for syringeing the 
cattle,” she whispered, 44 ye must not touch it, Mas- 
ter. Where did you find it ? ” 


SECRET SERVICE 


93 


“ Just by the wall,” he rejoined. 44 I knew it was 
kept there. They wash the sheep with it to destroy 
the vermin in them. And this is the squirt for it,” 
he added calmly placing the end of the instrument 
into the liquid, 44 and I will mayhap destroy the ver- 
min which is lodged in that elm tree.” 

A cry of terror issuing from above froze the very 
blood in Mistress Charity’s veins. 

“ Stop ! stop ! you young limb of Satan,” came 
from Master Busy’s nearly choking throat. 

64 It’s evildoers or evil spirits, Master,” cried Mis- 
tress Charity in an agony of fear. 

44 Whatever it be, Mistress, this should destroy 
it ! ” said Master Courage philosophically, as turn- 
ing the syringe upwards he squirted the whole of its 
contents straight into the fork of the ivy-covered 
branches. 

There was a cry of rage, followed by a cry of 
terror, then Master Hymn-of-Praise Busy with a ter- 
rific clatter of breaking boughs, fell in a heap upon 
the soft carpet of moss. 

Master Courage be it said to the eternal shame of 
venturesome youth, took incontinently to his heels, 
leaving Mistress Charity to bear the brunt of the 
irate saintly man’s wrath. 

Master Busy, we must admit had but little saintli- 
ness left in him now. Let us assume that — as he 
explained afterwards — he was not immediately aware 
of Mistress Charity’s presence, and that his own 
sense of propriety and of decorum had been drowned 
in a cataract of tar water. Certain it is that a 


94 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


volley of oaths, which would have surprised Sir Mar- 
maduke himself, escaped his lips. 

Had he not every excuse? He was dripping from 
head to foot, spluttering, blinded, choked and 
bruised. 

He shook himself like a wet spaniel. Then hear- 
ing the sound of a smothered exclamation which did 
not seem altogether unlike a giggle, he turned round 
savagely and perceived the dim outline of Mistress 
Charity’s dainty figure. 

“ The Lord love thee, Master Hymn-of-Praise,” 
she began, somewhat nervously, “ but you have made 
yourself look a sight.” 

“And by G — d I’ll make that young jackanapes 
look a sight ere I take my hand off him,” he retorted 
savagely. 

“ But what were you . . . hem ! what wert 

thou doing up in the elm tree friend Hymn-of- 
Praise? ” she asked demurely. 

“ Thee me no thou ! ” he said with enigmatic 
pompousness, followed by a distinctly vicious snarl, 
“ Master Busy will be my name in future for a saucy 
wench like thee.” 

He turned towards the house. Mistress Charity 
following meekly — somewhat subdued, for Master 
Busy was her affianced husband, and she had no mind 
to mar her future, through any of young Courage’s 
dare-devil escapades. 

“ Thou wouldst wish to know what I was doing 
up in that forked tree? ” he asked her with calm 
dignity after awhile, when the hedges of the flower 


SECRET SERVICE 92 

garden came in sight. “I was making a home for 
thee, according to the commands of the Lord.” 

“Not i nthe elm trees of a surety, Master Busy? ” 

“ I was making a home for thee,” he repeated with- 
out heeding her flippant observation, “ by rendering 
myself illustrious. I told thee, wench, did I not? 
that something was happening within the precincts 
of Acol Court, and that it is my duty to lie in wait 
and to watch. The heiress is about to be abducted, 
and it is my task to frustrate the evil designs of the 
mysterious criminal.” 

SShe looked at him in speechless amazement. He 
certainly looked strangely weird in the semi-darkness 
with his lanky hair plastered against his cheeks, his 
collar half torn from round his neck, the dripping, 
oily substance flowing in rivulets from his garments 
onto the ground. 

The girl had no longer any desire to laugh, and 
when Master Busy strode majestically across the 
rustic bridge, then over the garden paths to the 
kitchen quarter of the house, she followed him with- 
out a word, awed by his extraordinary utterances, 
vaguely feeling that in his dripping garments he 
somehow reminded her of Jonah and the whale. 


CHAPTER X 


AVOWED ENMITY 

T HE Pavilion had been built some fifty years ago, 
by one of the Spantons of Acol who had a taste 
for fanciful architecture. 

It had been proudly held b yseveral deceased rep- 
resentatives of the family to be the replica of a 
Greek temple. It certainly had columns supporting 
the portico, and steps leading thence to the ground. 
It also was circular in shape and was innocent of 
windows, deriving its sole light from the door, when 
it was open. 

The late Sir Jeremy, I bejieve, had been very fond 
of the place. Being of a somewhat morose and 
taciturn disposition, he liked the seclusion of this 
lonely corner of the park. He had a chair or two 
put into the pavilion and ’twas said that he indulged 
there in the smoking of that fragrant weed which of 
late had been more generously imported into this 
country. 

After Sir Jeremy’s death ,the pavilion fell into 
disuse. Sir Marmaduke openly expressed his dislike 
of the forlorn hole as he was wont to call it. He 
caused the door to be locked, and since then no one 
had entered the little building. The key it was 
presumed had been lost, the lock certainly looked 
rusty. The roof, too, soon fell into disrepair, and 
96 


AVOWED ENMITY 


97 

no doubt that within, the place soon became the 
prey of damp and mildew, the nest of homing birds, 
or the lair of timid beast. Very soon the proud 
replica of an archaic temple took on that miserable 
and forlorn look peculiar to uninhabited spots. 

From an air of abandonment to that of eerinesa 
was but a step, and now the building towered in 
splendid isolation, in this remote corner of the park, 
at the confines of the wood, with a reputation for be- 
ing the abode of ghosts, of bats and witches, and 
other evil things. 

When Master Busy sought for tracks of imaginary 
criminals bent on abducting the heiress he naturally 
drifted to this lonely spot; when Master Courage 
was bent on whispering sweet nothings into the ear 
of the other man’s betrothed, he enticed her to that 
comer of the park where he was least like to meet 
the heavy-booted saint. 

Thus it was that these three met on the one spot 
where as a rule at a late hour of the evening Prince 
Amede d’Orleans was wont to commence his wander- 
ings, sure of being undisturbed, and with the final 
disappearance of Master Busy and Mistress Charity 
the place was once more deserted. 

The bats once more found delight in this loneliness 
and from all around came that, subdued murmur, that- 
creaking of twigs, that silence so full of subtle 
sounds, which betrays the presence of animal life on 
the prowl. 

Anon there came the harsh noise of a key grating 
in a rusty lock. The door of the pavilion was cau- 


98 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


tiously opened from within and the mysterious 
French prince be-wigged, booted and hatted, emerged 
into the open. The night had drawn a singularly 
dark mantle ove rthe woods. Banks of cloud ob- 
scured the sky : the tall elm trees with their ivy cov- 
ered branches, and their impenetrable shadows 
beneath formed a dense wall which the sight of 
human creatures was not keen enough to pierce. Sir 
Marmaduke de Chavasse, in spite of this darkness, 
which he hailed gleefully, peered cautiously and in- 
tently round as he descended the steps. 

He had not met Eady Sue in the capacity of her 
romantic lover since that evening a week ago, when 
his secret had been discovered by Mrs. de Chavasse. 
The last vision he had had of the young girl was one 
redolent of joy and love and trust, sufficient to re- 
assure him that all was well with her, in regard to 
his schemes : but on that some evening a week ago he 
had gazed upon another little scene, which had not 
filled him with either joy or security. 

He had seen Lady Sue standing beside a young 
man whose personality — to say the least — -was well 
nigh as romantic as that of the exiled scion of the 
house of Orleans. He had seen rather than heard a 
young and passionate nature pouring into girlish 
ears the avowal of an unselfish and ardent love which 
had the infinite merit of being real and true. 

However well he himself might play his part of 
selfless hero and of vehement lover, there always 
lurked the danger that the falseness of his protesta- 
tions would suddenly ring a warning note to the 


AVOWED ENMITY 


99 


subtle sense of the confiding 1 girl. Were it not for 
the intense romanticism of her disposition, which 
beautified and exalted everything with which it came 
in contact, she would of a surety have detected the 
lie ere this. He had acted his dual role with con- 
summate skill, the contrast between the surly Puri- 
tanical guardian, with his round cropped head and 
shaven face, and the elegantly dressed cavalier, with 
a heavy moustache, an enormous perruque and a 
shade over one eye, was so complete that even Mrs. 
de Chavasse — alert, suspicious, wholly unromantic, 
had been momentarily deceived, and would have re- 
mained so but for his voluntary revelation of him- 
self. 

But the watchful and disappointed young lover 
was the real danger: a danger complicated by the 
fact that the Prince Amede d’Orleans actually dwelt 
in the cottage owned by Lambert’s brother, the 
blacksmith. The mysterious prince had perforce to 
dwell somewhere: else, whenever spied b ya labourer 
or wench from the village, he would have excited still 
further comment, and his movements mayhap would 
have been more persistently dogged. 

For this reason Sir Marmaduke had originally 
chosen Adam Lambert’s cottage to be his head- 
quarters ; it stood on the very outskirts of the village 
and he had only the wood to traverse between it 
and th pavilion where he effected his change of 
personality, thus he ran but few risks of meeting 
prying eyes. Moreover, Adam Lambert, the black- 
smith, and the old woman who kept house for him, 


100 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


both belonged \ to the new religious sects, whom 
Judge Bennett had so pertinently dubbed the 
Quakers, and they kept themselves very much aloof 
from gossip and the rest of the village. 

True Richard Lambert oft visited his brother and 
the old woman, but did so always in the daytime 
when Prince Amede d’Oleans carefully kept out of 
the way. Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had all the 
true instincts of the beast or bird of prey. He 
prowled about in the dark, and laid his snares for the 
seizure of his victim under cover of the night. 

This evening certain new schemes had found birth 
in his active mind; he was impatient that the victim 
tarried, when his brain was alive with thoughts of 
how to effect a more speedy capture. He leaned 
against the wall, close by the gate as was his wont 
when awaiting Sue, smiling grimly to himself at 
thought of the many little subterfuges she would em- 
ploy to steal out of the house, without encountering 
— as she thought — her watchful guardian. 

A voice close behind him — speaking none too 
kindly — broke in on his meditations, causing him to 
start — almost to crouch like a frightened cat. 

The next moment he had recognised the gruff and 
nasal tones of Adam Lambert. Apparently the 
blacksmith had just come from the wood through the 
gate, and had almost stumbled in the dark against 
the rigid figure of his mysterious lodger. 

“Friend, what dost thou here?” he asked per- 
emptorily. But already Sir Marmaduke had recov- 


AVOWED ENMITY 


101 


ered from that sudden sense of fear, which had caused 
him to start in alarm. 

“ I would ask the same question of you, my 
friend,” he retorted airily, speaking in the muffled 
voice and with the markedly foreign accent which he 
had assumed for the role of the Prince, “ might I 
enquire what you are doing here?” 

“ I have to see a sick mare down Minster way,” 
replied Lambert curtly, “ this is a short cut thither, 
and Sir Marmaduke hath granted me leave. But 
he liketh not strangers loitering in his park.” 

“ Then, friend,” rejoined the other lightly, “ when 
Sir Marmaduke doth object to my strolling in his 
garden, he will doubtless apprise me of the fact, 
without interference from you.” 

Adam Lambert after his uncivil greeting of his 
lodger had already turned his bac kon him, loth to 
have further speech with a man whom he hated and 
despised. 

Like the majority of country folk these days, the 
blacksmith had a wholesale contempt for every for- 
eigner, and more particularly for those who hailed 
from France: that country — in the estimation of all 
Puritans, Dissenters and Republicans — being the 
happy abode of every kind of immorality and de- 
bauchery. 

Prince Amede d’Orleans — as he styled himself — 
with his fantastic clothes, his airs and graces and 
long, curly hair was an object of special aversion 
to the Quaker, even though the money which the 


102 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


despised foreigner paid for his lodgings was passing 
welcome these hard times. 

Adam resolutely avoided speech with the Prince, 
whenever possible, but the latter’s provocative and 
sarcastic speech roused his dormant hatred; like a 
dog who has been worried, he now turned abruptly 
round and faced Sir Marmaduke, stepping close up 
to him, his eyes glaring with vindictive rage, a sav- 
age snarl rising in his throat. 

44 Take notice, friend,” he said hoarsely, 44 that 
I’ll not bear thine impudence. Thou mayest go and 
bully the old woman at the cottage when I am absent 
— Oh ! I’ve heard thee ! ” he added with unbridled 
savagery, 44 ordering her about as if she were thy 
serving wench . . . but let me tell thee that 

she is no servant of thine, nor I ... so have 
done my fine prince . . . dost understand?” 

44 Prithee, friend, do not excite yourself,” said Sir 
Marmaduke blandly, drawing back against the wall 
as far as he could to avoid close proximity with his 
antagonist. 44 I have never wished to imply that 
Mistress Lambert was aught but my most obliging, 
most amiable landlady — nor have I, to my certain 
knowledge, overstepped the privileges of a lodger. 
I trust that your worthy Aunt hath no cause for 
complaint. Mistress Lambert is your aunt?” he 
added superciliously, 44 is she not? ” 

44 That is nothing to thee,” muttered the other, 
44 if she be my aunt or no, as far as I can see.” 

44 Surely not. I asked in a spirit of polite en- 
quiry.” 


AVOWED ENMITY 


103 

But apparently this subject was one which had 
more than any other the power to rouse the black- 
smith’s savage temper. He fought with it for a 
moment or two, for anger is the Lord’s, and strict 
Quaker discipline forbade such unseemly wrangling. 
But Adam was a man of violent temperament which 
his strict religious training had not altogether suc- 
ceeded in holding in check: the sneers of the foreign 
prince, his calm, supercilious attitude, broke the 
curb which religion had set upon his passion. 

“ Aye ! thou art mighty polite to me, my fine gen- 
tleman,” he said vehemently. “ Thou knowest what 
I think of thy lazy foreign ways . . . why dost 

thou not do a bit of honest work, instead of hanging 
round her ladyship’s skirts? ... If I were to 
say a word to Sir Marmaduke, ’twould be mightily 
unpleasant for thee, an I mistake not. Oh! I know 
what thou’rt after, with thy fine ways, and thy 
romantic, lying talk of liberty and patriotism ! 

the heiress, eh, friend? That is thy de- 
sign. ... I am not blind I tell thee. 

I have seen thee and her . . .” 

Sir Marmaduke laughed lightly, shrugging his 
shoulders in token of indifference. 

“ Quite so, quite so, good master,” he said suavely, 
“ do ye not waste your breath in speaking thus 
loudly^ I understand that your sentiments towards 
me do not partake of that Christian charity of which 
ye and yours do prate at times so loudly. But I’ll 
not detain you. Nathless worthy Mistress Lam- 
bert will be awaiting you, or is it the sick mare down 


104 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


Minster way who hath first claim on your amiability. 
I’ll not detain you.” 

He turned as if to go, but Adam’s hard grip was 
on his shoulder in an instant. 

64 Nay! thou’lt not detain me — ’tis I am detaining 
thee ! ” said the blacksmith hoarsely, “ for I desired 
to tell thee that thy ugly French face is abhorrent 
to me. ... I do not hold with Princes. 
. . . For a prince is none better than another man 
nay, he is worse an he loafs and steals after 
heiresses and their gold . . . and will not do a 
bit of honest work. . . . Work makes the man. 

. Work and prayer . . . not your titles 

and fine estates. This is a republic now . 
understand? ... no king, no House of Lords 
—please the Lord neither clergymen nor noblemen 
soon. ... I work with my hands . . . and 

am not ashamed. The Lord Saviour was a carpen- 
ter and not a prince. . . . My brother is a 
student and a gentleman — as good as any Prince — « 
understand? Ten thousand times as good as thee.” 

He relaxed his grip which had been hard as steel 
on Sir Marmaduke’s shoulder. It was evident that 
he had been nursing hatred and loathing against his 
lodger for some time, and that to-night the flood- 
gates of his pent-up wrath had been burst asunder 
through the mysterious prince’s taunts, and insinua- 
tions anent the cloud and secrecy which hung round 
the Lamberts’ parentage. 

Though his shoulder was painful and bruised un- 
der the pressure of the blacksmith’s rough fingers* 


AVOWED ENMITY 105 

Sir Marmaduke did not wince. He looked his 
avowed enemy boldly in the face, with no small 
measure of contempt for the violence displayed. 

His own enmity towards those who thwarted him 
was much more subtle, silent and cautious. He 
would never storm and rage, show his enmity openly 
and caution his antagonist through an outburst of 
rage. Adam Lambert still glaring into his lodger’s 
eye encountered nothing therein but irony, and in- 
dulgent contempt. 

Religion forbade him to swear. Yet was he sorely 
tempted, and we may presume that he cursed in- 
wardly, for his enemy refused to be drawn into 
wordy warfare, and he himself had exhausted his 
vocabulary of sneering abuse, even as he had ex* 
hausted his breath. 

Perhaps in his innermost heart he was ashamed of 
his outburst. After all, he had taken this man’s 
money, and had broken bread with him. His hand 
dropped to his side, and his head fell forward on 
his breast even as with a pleasant laugh the prince 
carelessly turned away, and with an affected gesture 
brushed his silken doublet, there where the black- 
smith’s hard grip had marred the smoothness of the 
delicate fabric. 

Had Adam Lambert possessed that subtle sixth 
sense, which hears and sees that which goes on in 
the mind of others, he had perceived a thought in 
his lodger’s brain cells which might have caused him 
to still further regret his avowal of open enmity. 

For as the blacksmith finally turned away and 


106 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


walked off through the park, skirting the boundary 
wall, Sir Marmaduke looked over his shoulder at the 
ungainly figure which was soon lost in the gloom, 
and muttered a round oath between his teeth. 

“ An exceedingly unpleasant person,” he vowed 
within himself, “ you will have to be removed, good 
master, an you get too troublesome.” 


CHAPTER XI 


SURRENDER 

UT this interview with the inimical Quaker had 
more than strengthened Sir Marmaduke’s design 
to carry his bold scheme more rapidly to its success- 
ful issue. 

The game which he had played with grave risks 
for over three months now had begun to be danger- 
ous. The mysterious patriot from France could not 
afford to see prying enemies at his heels. 

Anon when the graceful outline of Lady Sue’s 
figure emerged from out the surrounding gloom, Sir 
Marmaduke went forward to meet her, and clasped 
her to him in a passionate embrace. 

44 My gracious lady . . . my beautiful Sue 

. . .” he murmured whilst he covered her hands, 

her brow, her hair with ardent kisses, “ you have 
come so late — and I have been so weary of waiting 
waiting for you.” 

He led her through the gardens to where one 
gigantic elm, grander than its fellows, had thrown 
out huge gnarled roots which protruded from out the 
ground. One of these, moss-covered, green and soft, 
formed a perfect resting place. He drew her down, 
begging her to sit. She obeyed, scared somewhat as 
was her wont when she found him so unfettered and 
violent. 


107 


108 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


He stretched himself at full length at her feet, 
extravagant now in his acts and gestures like a man 
who no longer can hold turbulent passion in check. 
He kissed the edge of her kirtle, then her cloak and 
the tips of her little .shoes : 

44 It was cruel to keep me waiting . . 

gracious lady — it was cruel,” he murmured in the 
intervals between these ardent caresses. 

44 I am so sorry, Amede,” she repeated, grieving to 
see him so sorrowful, not a little frightened at his 
vehemence, trying to withdraw her hands from his 
grasp. 44 I was detained . . .” 

44 Detained,” he rejoined harshly, 44 detained by 
some one else . . . some one who had a greater 

claim on your time than the poor exile . . .” 

44 Nay! ’tis unkind thus to grieve me,” she said 
with tender reproach as she felt the hot tears gather 
in her eyes. 44 You know — as I do — that I am not 
my own mistress yet.” 

44 Yes ! yes ! forgive me — my gracious, sweet, sweet 
lady. ... I am mad when you are not nigh 
me. . . . You do not know — how could you? 

. . . what torments I endure, when I think of 

you so beautiful, so exquisite, so adorable, sur- 
rounded by other men who admire you . . . de- 
sire you, mayhap. . . . Oh ! my God ! . . .” 

44 But you need have no fear,” she protested gen- 
tly, 44 you know that I gave my whole heart willingly 
to you . . . my prince . . .” 

44 Nay, but you cannot know,” he persisted 
violently, 44 sweet, gentle creature that you are, you 


SURRENDER 109 

cannot guess the agonies which a strong man en- 
dures when he is gnawed by ruthless insane jeal- 
ousy . . 

She gave a cry of pain. 

“ Amede ! ” for she felt hurt, deeply wounded by 
his mistrust of her, when she had so wholly, so fully 
trusted him. 

“ I know ... I know,” he said with quick 
transition of tone, fearful that he had offended her, 
striving to master his impatience, to find words which 
best pleased her young, romantic temperament, 
“ Nay ! but you must think me mad. . . . May- 

hap you despise me,” he added with a gentle note of 
sadness. “ Oh, God ! . . . mayhap you will 
turn from me now. . . .” 

“ No ! no ! ” 

“ Yet do I worship you . . . my saint 
. my divinity . . . my Suzanne. . . * 
You are more beautiful, more adorable than any 

woman in the world . . . and I am so un- 

worthy.” 

“ You unworthy ! ” she retorted, laughing gaily 
through her tears. “ You, my prince, my 
king! . . .” 

“ Say that once more, my Suzanne,” he murmured 
with infinite gentleness, “ oh ! the exquisite sweetness 
of your voice, which is like dream-music in mine ears. 

. . . Oh ! to hold you in my arms thus, for ever 

. . . until death, sweeter than life . 

came to me in one long passionate kiss.” 

She allowed him to put his arms round her now, 


110 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


glad that the darkness hid the blush on her cheeks: 
thus she loved him, thus she had first learned to love 
him, ardent, oh, yes ! but so gentle, so meek, yet so 
great and exalted in his selfless patriotism. 

“ ’Tis not of death you should speak, sweet 
prince,” she said, ineffably happy now that she felt 
him more subdued, more trusting and fond, “ rather 
should you speak of life . . . with me, your 

own Suzanne ... of happiness in the future, 
when you and I, hand in hand, will work together 
for that great cause you hold so dear . . . the 

freedom and liberties of France.” 

“Ah, yes!” he sighed in utter dejection, “when 
that happy times comes . . . but . . 

“ You do not trust me? ” she asked reproachfully* 

“ With all my heart, my Suzanne,” he replied* 
“ but you are so beautiful, so rich . . . and 

other men . . .” 

“ There are no other men for me,” she retorted 
simply. “ I love you.” 

“ Will you prove it to me ? ” 

“ How can I? ” 

“ Be mine . . . mine absolutely,” he urged 

eagerly with passion just sufficiently subdued to 
make her pulses throb. “ Be my wife . . , 

my princess ... let me feel that no one could 

come between us. . . .” 

“ But my guardian would never consent,” she pro- 
tested. 

“ Surely your love for me can dispense with Sir 
Marmaduke’s consent. . . .” 


SURRENDER 


111 


“ A secret manage ? ” she asked, terrified at this 
strange vista which his fiery imagination was con- 
juring up before her. 

“ You refuse? . . he asked hoarsely. 

“No! no! . . . but . . .” 

“ Then you do not love me, Suzanne.” 

The coolness in his tone struck a sudden chill to 
her heart. She felt the clasp of his arms round her 
relax, she felt rather than saw that he withdrew 
markedly from her. 

“ Ah ! forgive me ! forgive me ! ” she murmured, 
stretching her little hands out to him in a pathetic 
and childlike appeal. “ I have never deceived any- 
one in my life before. . . . How could I live a 

life? . . . married to you, yet seemingly a 

girl. . . . Whilst in three months. . . .” 

She paused in her eagerness, for he had jumped 
to his feet and was now standing before her ,a rigid 
statuesque figure, with head bent and arms hanging 
inert by his side. 

“ You do not love me, Suzanne,” he said with an 
infinity of sadness, which went straight to her own 
loving heart, “ else you would not dream of thus 
condemning me to three months of exquisite torture 
. . . I have had my answer. . . . Farewell, 

my gracious lady . . . not mine ,alas ! but an- 
other man’s . . . and may Heaven grant that 
he love you well . . . not as I do, for that were 

impossible. . . 

His voice had died away in a whisper, which ob- 
viously was half-choked with tears. She, too, had 


112 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


risen whilst he spoke, all her hesitation gone, her 
heart full of reproaches against herself, and of love 
for him. 

44 What do you mean ? ” she asked trembling. 

44 That I must go,” he replied simply, 44 since you 
do not love me. . . .” 

Oh! how thankful she was that this merciful dark- 
ness enwrapped her so tenderly. She was so young, 
so innocent and pure, that she felt half ashamed of 
the expression of her own great love which went out 
to him in a veritable wave of passion, when she be- 
gan to fear that she was about to lose him. 

44 No, no,” she cried vehemently, 44 you shall not 
go you shall not.” 

Her hands sought his in the gloom, and found 
them, clung to them with ever-growing ardour ; she 
came quite close to him trying to peer into his face 
and to let him read in hers all the pathetic story of 
her own deep love for him. 

44 1 love you,” she murmured through her tears. 
And again she repeated: 44 I love you. See,” she 
added with sudden determination, 44 1 will do e’en as 
you wish. ... I will follow you to the utter- 
most ends of the earth. ... I ... I will 
marry you . . . secretly ... an you 

wish.” 

Welcome darkness that hid her blushes ! . . . she 
was so young — so ignorant of life and of the world — 
yet she felt that by her words, her promise, her re- 
nunciation of her will, she was surrendering some- 


SURRENDER 113 

thing to this man, which she could never, never 
regain. 

Did the first thought of fear, or misgiving cross 
her mind at this moment it were impossible to say. 
The darkness which to her was so welcome was — had 
she but guessed it — infinitely cruel too for it hid the 
look of triumph ,of rapacity ,of satisfied ambition 
which at her selfless surrender had involuntarily crept 
into Marmaduke’s eyes. 


CHAPTER XII 


a woman’s heart 

I T is difficult perhaps to analyse rightly the feel- 
ings and sensations of a young girl, when she is 
literally being swept off her feet in a whirlpool of 
passion and romance. 

Some few years later when Lady Sue wrote these 
charming memoirs which are such an interesting 
record of her early life, she tried to note with faith- 
ful accuracy what was the exact state of her mind 
when three months after her first meeting with Prince 
Amede d’Orleans, she plighted her troth to him and 
promised to marry him in secret and in defiance of 
her guardian’s more than probable opposition. 

Her sentiments with regard to her mysterious lover 
were somewhat complex, and undoubtedly she was 
too young, too inexperienced then to differentiate 
between enthusiastic interest in a romantic person- 
ality, and real, lasting, passionate love for a man, 
as apart from any halo of romance which might be 
attached to him. 

When she was a few years older she averred tha^ 
she could never have really loved her prince, because 
she always feared him. Hers, therefore, was not the 
perfect love that casteth out fear. She was afraid 
of him in his ardent moods, almost as much as when 
he allowed his unbridled temper free rein. When- 


A WOMAN’S HEART 


115 


ever she walked through the dark bosquets of the 
park, on her way to a meeting with her lover, she 
was invariably conscious of a certain trepidation of 
all her nerves, a wonderment as to what he would 
say when she saw him, how he would act, would he 
chide? or rave? or merely reproach? 

It was the gentle and pathetic terror of a child 
from a stern yet much loved parent. Yet she never 
mistrusted him . . . perhaps because she had 

never really seen him — only in outline, half wrapped 
in shadows, or merely silhouetted against a weirdly 
lighted background. His appearance had no tangi- 
ble reality for her. She was in love with an ideal, 
not with a man ... he was merely the mouth- 
piece of an individuality which was of her own crea- 
tion. 

Added to all this there was the sense of isolation. 
She had lost her mother when she was a baby, her 
father fell at Naseby. She herself had been an only 
child, left helplessly stranded when the civil war dis- 
persed her relations and friends, some into exile, 
others in splendid revolt within the fastnesses of their 
own homes, impoverished by pillage and sequestra- 
tion, rebellious, surrounded by spies, watching that 
opportunity for retaliation which was so slow in 
coming. 

Tossed hither and thither by Fate in spite — or 
perhaps because — of her great wealth, she had found 
a refuge, though not a home at Acol Court ; she had 
been of course too young at the time to understand 
rightly the great conflict between the King’s party 


116 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

and the Puritans, but had naturally embraced the 
cause — for which her father’s life had been sacrificed 
— blindly, like a child of instinct, not like a woman 
of thought. 

Her guardian and Mrs. de Chavasse stood for that 
faction of Roundheads, at which her father and all 
her relatives had sneered even while they were being 
conquered and oppressed by them. She disliked 
them both from the first ; and chafed at the parsimo- 
nious habits of the house, which stood in such glaring 
contrast to the easy lavishness of her own luxurious 
home. 

Fortunately for her, her guardian avoided rather 
than sought her company. She met him at meals 
and scarcely more often than that, and though she 
often heard his voice about the house, usually raised 
in anger or impatience, he was invariably silent and 
taciturn when she was present. 

The presence of Richard Lambert, his humble de- 
votion, his whole-hearted sympathy and the occa- 
sional moments of conversation which she had with 
him were the only bright moments in her dull life 
at the Court: and there is small doubt but that the 
friendship and trust which characterised her feelings 
towards him would soon have ripened into more pas- 
sionate love, but for the advent into her life of the 
mysterious hero, who by his personality, his strange, 
secretive ways, his talk of patriotism and liberty at 
once took complete possession of her girlish imagina- 
tion. 

She was perhaps just too young when she met 


A WOMAN’S HEART 


117 


Lambert ; she had not yet reached that dangerous 
threshold when girlhood looks from out obscure igno- 
rance into the glaring knowledge of womanhood. 
She was a child when Lambert showed his love for 
her by a thousand little simple acts of devotion and 
by the mute adoration expressed in his eyes. Lam- 
bert drew her towards the threshold by his passionate 
love, and held her back within the refuge of innocent 
girlhood by the sincerity and exaltation of his wor- 
ship. 

With the first word of vehement, unreasoning pas- 
sion, the mysterious prince dragged the girl over 
that threshold into womanhood. He gave her no 
time to think, no time to analyse her feelings, he 
rushed her into a torrent of ardour and of excitement 
in which she never could pause in order to draw 
breath. 

To-night she had promised to marry him secretly 
— to surrender herself body and soul to this man 
whom she hardly knew, whom she had never really 
seen; she felt neither joy nor remorse, only a strange 
sense of agitation, an unnatural and morbid im- 
patience to see the end of the next few days of 
suspense. 

For the first time since she had come to Acol, and 
encountered the kindly sympathy of Richard Lam- 
bert, she felt bitterly angered against him when hav- 
ing parted from the prince at the door of the pavil- 
ion, she turned to walk back towards the house and 
came face to face with the young man. 

A narrow path led through the trees, from the 


118 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


ha-ha to the gate, and Richard Lambert was ap- 
parently walking along aimlessly, in the direction of 
the pavilion. 

44 I came hoping to meet your ladyship and to 
escort you home. The night seems very dark,” he 
explained simply in answer to a sudden, haughty 
stiffening of her young figure, which he could not 
help but notice. 

44 I was taking a stroll in the park,” she rejoined 
coldly, 44 the evening is sweet and balmy 
but ... I have no need of escort, Master 
Lambert ... I thank you. . . . It is late 

and I would wish to go indoors alone.” 

44 It is indeed late, gracious lady,” he said gently* 
44 and the park is lonely at night . . . will you 
not allow me to walk beside you as far as the 
house? ” 

But somehow his insistence, his very gentleness 
struck a jarring note, for which she herself could not 
have accounted. Was it the contrast between two 
men, which unaccountably sent a thrill of disappoint- 
ment almost of apprehension through her heart? 

She was angry with Lambert, bitterly angry be- 
cause he was kind and gentle and long-suffering, 
whilst the other was violent even brutal at times. 

44 1 must repeat, Master, that I have no need of 
your escort,” she said haughtily, 44 I have no fear of 
marauders, nor yet of prowling beasts. And for the 
future I should be grateful to you,” she added, con- 
scious of her own cruelty, determined nevertheless to 
be remorselessly cruel, 44 if you were to cease that 


A WOMAN’S HEART 119 

system which you have adopted of late — that of spy- 
ing on my movements.” 

“ Spying? ” 

The word had struck him in the face like a blow. 
And she, womanlike, with that strange, impulsive 
temperament of hers, was not at all sorry that she 
had hurt him. Yet surely he had done her no wrong, 
save by being so different to the other man, and by 
seeming to belittle that other in her sight, against 
her will and his own. 

“ I am grieved, believe me,” she said coldly, “ if 
I seem unkind . . . but you must see for your- 

self good master, that we cannot go on as we are 
doing now. . . . Whenever I go out, you fol- 
low me . . . when I return I find you waiting 

for me. ... I have endeavoured to think kindly 
of your actions, but if you value my friendship, as 
you say you do, you will let me go my way in 
peace.” 

“Nay! I humbly beg your ladyship’s gracious 
forgiveness,” he said ; “ if I have transgressed it is 
because I am blind to all save to your ladyship’s 
future happiness, and at times the thought of that 
adventurer is more than I can bear.” 

“ You do yourself no good, Master Lambert, by 
talking thus to me of the man I love and honour 
beyond all things in this world. You are blind and 
see not things as they are : blind to the merits of 
one who is as infinitely above you as the stars. But 
nathless I waste my breath again. ... I have 
no power to convince you of the grievous error 


120 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


which you commit. Rut if you cared for me, as you 
say you do ...” 

44 If I cared ! ” he murmured, with a pathetic 
emphasis on that little word 44 if.” 

44 As a friend I mean,” she rejoined still cold, still 
cruel, still womanlike in that strange, unexplainable 
desire to wound the man who loved her. 44 If you 
care for me as a friend, you will not throw yourself 
any more in the way of my happiness. Now you 
may escort me home, an you wish. This is the last 
time that I shall speak to you as a friend, in re- 
sponse to your petty attacks on the man whom I 
love. Henceforth you must choose ’twixt his friend* 
ship and my enmity ! ” 

And without vouchsafing him another word or look, 
she gathered her cloak more closely round her, and 
walked rapidly away along the narrow path. 

He followed with head bent, meditating, wonder- 
ing! Wondering! 


CHAPTER XIII 


AN IDEA 

rpHE triumph was complete. But of a truth the 
game was waxing dangerous. 

Lady Sue Aldmarshe had promised to marry her 
prince. She would keep her word, of that Sir Mar- 
maduke was firmly convinced. But there would of 
necessity be two or three days delay and every hour 
added to the terrors, the certainty of discovery. 

There was a watch-dog at Sue’s heels, stern, alert, 
unyielding. Richard Lambert was probing the 
secret of the mysterious prince, with the unerring 
eye of the disappointed lover. 

The meeting to-night had been terribly dangerous. 
Sir Marmaduke knew that Lambert was lurking 
somewhere in the park. 

At present even the remotest inkling of the truth 
must still be far from the young man’s mind. The 
whole scheme was so strange, so daring, so foreign 
to the simple ideas of the Quaker-bred lad, that its 
very boldness had defied suspicion. But the slight-* 
est mischance now, a meeting at the door of the 
pavilion, an altercation — face to face, eye to eye — 
and Richard Lambert would be on the alert. His 
hatred would not be so blind, nor yet so clumsy, as 
that of his brother ,the blacksmith. There is no spy 
so keen in all the world as a jealous lover. 

121 


122 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


This had been the prince’s first meeting with Sue, 
since that memorable day when the secret of their 
clandestine love became known to Lambert. Sir Mar- 
maduke knew well that it had been fraught with 
danger; that every future meeting would wax more 
and more perilous still, and that the secret marriage 
itself, however carefully and secretively planned* 
would hardly escape the prying eyes of the young 
man. 

The unmasking of Prince Amede d’Orleans before 
Sue had become legally his wife was a possibility 
which Sir Marmaduke dared not even think of, lest 
the very thought should drive him mad. Once she 
was his wife! . . . well, let her look to herself. 

The marriage tie would be a binding one, 
he would see to that, and her fortune should be his, 
even though he had won her by a lie. 

He had staked his very existence on the success 
of his scheme. Lady Sue’s fortune was the one aim 
of his life, for it he had worked and striven, and 
lied : he would not even contemplate a future without 
it, now that his plans had brought him so near the 
goal. 

He had one faithful ally, though not a powerful 
one, in Editha, who lured by some vague promises 
of his, desperate too as regards her own future — had 
chosen to throw in her lot whole-heartedly with his. 

He was closeted with her on the following day, in 
the tiny withdrawing room which leads out of the; 
hall at Acol Court. When he had stolen into the 
house in the small hours of the morning he had seen 


AN IDEA 


123 


Richard Lambert leaning out of one of the windows 
which gave onto the park. 

It seemed as if the young man must have seen 
him, when he skirted the house, for though there 
was no moonlight, the -summer’s night was singularly 
clear. That Lambert had been on the watch — spy- 
ing as Sir Marmaduke said with a bitter oath of 
rage — was beyond a doubt. 

Editha too was uneasy ; she thought that Lambert 
had purposely avoided her the whole morning. 

“ I lingered in the garden for as long as I could,” 
she said to her brother-in-law, watching with keen 
anxiety his restless movements to and fro in the 
narrow room, “ I thought Lambert would keep within 
doors if he saw me about. He did not actually see 
you, Marmaduke, did he ? ” she queried with ever- 
growing inquietude. 

“ No. Not face to face,” he replied curtly. “ I 
contrived to avoid him in the park, and kept well 
within the shadows, when I saw him spying through 
the window.” 

“ Curse him ! ” he added with savage fury, “ curse 
him, for a meddlesome, spying cur ! ” 

“ The whole thing is becoming vastly dangerous,” 
she sighed. 

44 Yet it must last for another few weeks at 
least. . . .” 

“ I know . . . and Lambert is a desperate 

enemy: he dogs Sue’s footsteps, he will come upon 
you one day when you are alone, or with her 
he will provoke a quarrel. . . .” 


124 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


44 I know — I know . . he retorted impati- 

ently, 44 ’tis no use recapitulating the many evil con- 
tingencies that might occur. ... I know that 
Lambert is dangerous . . . damn him ! . 

Would to God I could be rid of him . . . some- 

how.” 

44 You can dismiss him,” she suggested, 44 pay him 
his wages and .send him about his business.” 

44 What were the use ? He would remain in the 
village — in his brother’s cottage mayhap 
with more time on his hands for his spying work- 
He would dog the wench’s steps more jeal- 
ously than ever. . . . No ! no ! ” he added, whilst 

he cast a quick, furtive look at her — a look which 
somehow caused her to shiver with apprehnsion more 
deadly than heretofore. 

44 That’s not what I want,” he said significantly. 

44 What’s to be done? ” she murmured, 44 what’s to 
be done ? ” 

44 1 must think,” he rejoined harshly. 44 But we 
must get that love-sick youth out of the way 
. him and his airs of Providence in disguise. 

. . Something must be done to part him from 

the wench effectually and completely. . 
something that would force him to quit this neigh- 
bourhood . . . for ever if possible.” 

She did not reply immediately, but fixed her large, 
dark eyes upon him, snlently for awhile, then she 
murmured : 

44 If I only knew ! ” 

44 Knew what ? ” 


AN IDEA 


125 


“ If I could trust you, Marmaduke ! ” 

He laughed, a harsh, cruel laugh which grated 
upon her ear. 

“ We know too much of one another, my dear 
Editha, not to trust each other.” 

“ My whole future depends on you. I am penni- 
less. If you marry Sue. . . .” 

44 I can provide for you,” he interrupted roughly. 
“What can I do now? My penury is worse than 
yours. So, my dear, if you have a plan to propound 
for the furtherance of my schemes, I pray you do 
not let your fear of the future prevent you from 
lending me a helping hand.” 

44 A thought crossed my mind,” she said eagerly, 
44 the thought of something which would effectually 
force Richard Lambert to quit this neighbourhood 
for ever.” 

44 What were that ? ” 

44 Disgrace.” 

“Disgrace?” he exclaimed. “Aye! you are 
right. Something mean . . . paltry . . . 

despicable . . . .something that would make heii 

gracious ladyship turn away from him in disgust 
and would force him to go away from here 
. . . for ever.” 

He looked at her closely, scrutinising her face, try- 
in gto read her thoughts. 

44 Athought crossed your mind,” he demanded per- 
emptorily. 44 What is it?” 

44 The house in London,” she murmured. 

44 You are not afraid? ” 


126 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


“ Oh ! ” she said with a careless shrug of the 
shoulders. 

“ The Protector’s spies are keen,” he urged, eager 
to test her courage, her desire to help him. 

“ They’ll scarce remember me after two years.” 

“ Hm ! Their memory is keen . . . and the 

new laws doubly severe.” 

“ We’ll be cautious.” 

“ How can you let your usual clients know? 
They are dispersed.” 

“ Oh, no! My Lord Walterton is as keen as ever 
and Sir James Overbury would brave the devil for 
a night at hazard. A message to them and we’ll 
have a crowd every night.” 

“ ’Tis well thought on, Editha,” he said approv- 
ingly. “ But we must not delay. Will you go to 
London to-morrow? ” 

“ An you approve ? ” 

“ Aye ! you can take the Dover coach and be in 
town by nightfall. Then write your letters to my 
Lord Walterton and Sir James Overbury. Get a 
serving wench from Alverstone’s in the Strand, and 
ask the gentlemen to bring their own men, for the 
sake of greater safety. They’ll not refuse.” 

“ Refuse ? ” she said with a light laugh, “ oh, no ! ” 

“ To-day being Tuesday, you should have your 
first evening entertainment on Friday. Everything 
could be ready by then.” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“ Very well then, on Friday, I, too, will arrive in 
London, my dear Editha, escorted by my secretary, 


AN IDEA 


127 

Master Richard Lambert, an dtogether we will call 
and pay our respects at your charming house in 
Bath Street.” 

“ I will do my share. You must do yours, Mar- 
maduke. Endicott will help you: he is keen and 
clever. And if Lambert but takes a card in his 
hand . . 

“Nay! he will take the cards, mine oath on that! 
Do you but arrange it all with Endicott.” 

“ And, Marmaduke, I entreat you,” she urged now 
with sudden earnestness, “ I entreat you to beware 
of my Lord Protector’s spies. Think of the con- 
sequences for me!” 

“ Aye ! ” he said roughly, laughing that wicked 
cruel laugh of his, which damped her eagerness, and 
struck chill terror into her heart, “ aye ! the whipping 
post for you, fair Editha, for keeping a gaming 
house. What? Of a truth I need not urge you to 
be cautious.” 

Probably at this moment she would have given 
worlds — had she possessed them — if she could but 
have disassociated herself from her brother-in-law’s 
future altogether. Though she was an empty- 
headed, brainless kind of woman, she was not by 
nature a wicked one. Necessity had driven her into 
linking her fortunes with those of Sir Marmaduke. 
And he had been kind to her, when she was in deep 
distress : but for him she would probably have 
starved, for her beauty had gone and her career as 
an actress had been, for some unexplainable reason, 
quite suddenly cut short, whilst a police raid on the 


128 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


gaming house over which she presided had very 
nearly landed her in a convict’s cell. 

She had escaped severe punishment then, chiefly 
because Cromwell’s laws against gambling were not 
so rigorous at the time as they had since become, 
also because she was able to plead ignorance of them, 
and the status of first offence. 

Therefore she knew quite well what she risked 
through the scheme which she had so boldly pro-* 
pounded to Sir Marmaduke. Dire disgrace and in- 
famy, if my Lord Protector’s spies once more came 
upon the gamesters in her house — unawares. 

Utter social ruin and worse ! Yet she risked it 
all, in order to help him. She did not love him, 
nor had she any hopes that he would of his own free 
will do more than give her a bare pittance for her 
needs once he had secured Lady Sue’s fortune; but 
she was shrewd enough to reckon that the more 
completely she was mixed up in his nefarious proj- 
ects, the more absolutely forced would he be to ac- 
cede to her demands later on. The word blackmail 
had not been invented in those days, but the deed 
itself existed and what Editha had in her mind when 
she risked ostracism for Sir Marmaduke’s sake was 
something very akin to it. 

But he, in the meanwhile, had thrown off his dejec- 
tion. He was full of eagerness, of anticipated tri- 
umph now. 

The rought idea which was to help him in his 
schemes had originated in Editha’s brain, but already 
he had elaborated it; had seen in the plan a means 


AN IDEA 


129 


not only of attaining his own ends with regard to 
Sue, but also of wreaking a pleasing vengeance on 
the man who was trying to frustrate him. 

“ I pray you, be of good cheer, fair Editha,” he 
said quite gaily. “ Your plan is good and sound, 
and meseems as if the wench’s fortune were already 
within my grasp.” 

“Within our grasp, you mean, Marmaduke,” she 
said significantly. 

“ Our grasp of course, gracious lady,” he said 
with a marked sneer, which she affected to ignore^ 
“ What is mine is yours. Am I not tied to the 
strings of your kirtle by lasting bonds of infinite 
gratitude ? ” 

“ I will start to-morrow then. By chaise to Dover 
and thence by coach,” she said coldly, taking no heed 
of his irony. “ ’Twere best you did not assume your 
romantic role again until after your own voyage to 
London. You can give me some money I presume. 
I can do nothing with an empty purse.” 

“ You shall have the whole contents of mine, 
gracious Editha,” he said blandly, “ some ten pounds 
in all, until the happy day when I can place half a 
million at your feet.” 


PART II 


CHAPTER XIV 

THE HOUSE IN LONDON 

T T stood about midway down an unusually narrow 
* by-street off the Strand. 

A tumble-down archway, leaning to one side like 
a lame hen, gave access to a dark passage, dank 
with moisture, whereon the door of the house gave 
some eighteen feet up on the left. 

The unpaved street, undrained and unutterably 
filthy, was ankle-deep in mud, even at the close of 
this hot August day. Down one side a long 
blank wall, stone-built and green with mildew, pre- 
sented an unbroken frontage: on the other the row 
of houses with doors perpetually barred, and win- 
dows whereon dust and grit had formed effectual 
curtains against prying eyes added to the sense of 
loneliness, of insecurity of unknown dangers lurking 
behind that crippled archway, or beneath the 
shadows of the projecting eaves, whence the per- 
petual drip-drip of soot water came as a note of 
melancholy desolation. 

From all the houses the plaster was peeling off 
in many places, a prey to the inclemencies of Lon- 
don winters: all presented gray facades, with an air 
of eeriness about their few windows, flush with the 
130 


131 


the house in London 

outside wall — at one time painted white, no doubt, 
but now of uniform dinginess with the rest of the 
plaster work. 

There was a grim hint about the whole street of 
secret meetings, and of unavowable deeds done un- 
der cover of isolation and of darkness, whilst the 
great crooked mouth of the archway disclosing the 
blackness and gloom of the passage beyond sug- 
gested the lair of human wild beasts who only went 
about in the night. 

As a rule but few passers-by availed themselves 
of this short and narrow cut down to the river-side. 
Nathless the unarmed citizen was scared by these 
dank and dreary shadows, whilst the city watchman, 
mindful of his own safety, was wont to pass the 
mean street by. 

Only my Lord Protector’s new police-patrol fresh 
to its onerous task solemnly marched down it once 
in twenty-four hours, keeping shoulder to shoulder, 
looking neither to right nor left, thankful when 
either issue was once more within sight. 

But in this same evening in August, 1657, it 
seemed as if quite a number of people had business 
in Bath Street off the Strand. At any rate this 
was specially noticeable after St. Mary’s had struck 
the hour of nine, when several cloaked and hooded 
figures slipped, one after another, some single, other 5 
in groups of two or three, into the shadow of the 
narrow lane. 

They all walked in silence, and did not greet one 
another as they passed; some cast from time to 


132 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


time a furtive look behind them ; but every one of 
these evening prowlers seemed to have the same ob- 
jective, for as soon as they reached the crippled 
archway, they disappeared within the gloom of its 
yawning mouth. 

Anon when the police patrol had gone by and 
was lost in the gloom there where Bath Street de- 
bouches on the river bank, two of these heavily 
cloaked figures walked rapidly down from the 
Strand, and like the others slipped quickly under 
the archway, and made straight for the narrow 
door on the left of the passage. 

This door was provided with a heavy bronze 
knocker, but strangely enough the newcomers did 
not avail themselves of its use, but rapped on the 
wooden panels wjith their knuckles : giving three 
successive raps at regular intervals. 

They were admitted almost immediately, the door 
seemingly opening of itself, and they quickly stepped 
across the threshold. 

Within the house was just as dark and gloomy 
as it was without and as the two visitors entered, 
a voice came from out the shadows, and said, in a 
curious monotone and with strange irrelevance: 

“ The hour is late ! ” 

“ And ’twill be later still,” replied one of the new- 
comers. 

“ Yet the cuckoo hath not called,” retorted the 
voice. 

“ Nor is the ferret on the prowl,” was the enig- 


THE HOUSE IN LONDON 


133 

matic reply. Whereupon the voice speaking in more 
natural tones added sententiously : 

44 Two flights of steps, and ’ware the seventeenth 
step on the first flight. Door on the left, two raps, 
then three.” 

44 Thank you, friend,” rejoined one of the new- 
comers, 44 ’tis pleasant to feel that so faithful a 
watch guards the entrance of this palace of pleas- 
ure.” 

Thereupon the two visitors, who of a truth must 
have been guided either by instinct or by intimate 
knowledge of the place, for not a gleam of light 
illumined the entrance hall, groped their way to a 
flight of stone stairs which led in a steep curve to 
the upper floors of the house. 

A rickety bannister which gave ominously under 
the slightest pressure helped to guide the visitors 
in this utter darkness : but obviously the warning 
uttered by that mysterious challenging voice below 
w r as not superfluous, for having carefully counted 
sixteen steps in an upward direction, the new- 
comers came to a halt, and feeling their way for- 
ward now with uttermost caution their feet met a 
yawming hole, which had soon caused a serious acci- 
dent to a stranger who had ventured thus far in 
ignorance of pitfalls. 

A grim laugh, echoed by a lighter one, showed 
that the visitors had encountered only what they 
had expected, and after this brief episode they con- 
tinued their journey upwards with a firmer sense of 
security; a smoky oil lamp on the first floor land- 


134 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


ing guided their footsteps by casting a flickering 
light on the narrow stairway, whereon slime and 
filth crept unchecked through the broken crevices 
between the stones. 

But now as they advanced, the silence seemed 
more broken : a distinct hum as of many voices was 
soon perceptible, and anon a shrill laugh, followed 
by another more deep in tone, and echoed by others 
which presently died away in the distance. 

By the time the two men had reached the second 
floor landing these many noises had become more 
accentuated, also more distinct : still muffled and 
subdued as if proceeding from behind heavy doors, 
but nevertheless obvious as the voices of men and 
women in lively converse. 

The newcomers gave the distinctive raps pre- 
scribed by their first mentor, on the thick panels of 
a solid oak door on their left. 

The next moment the door itself was thrown open 
from within; a flood of light burst forth onto the 
gloomy landing from the room beyond, the babel 
of many voices became loud and clear, and as the 
two men stood for a moment beneath the lintel a 
veritable chorus of many exclamations greeted them 
from every side. 

“ Walterton ! begad ! ” 

“ And Overbury too ! ” 

“ How late ye come ! 99 

“We thought ye’d fallen a victim to Noll’s myr- 
midons ! ” 

It was of a truth a gay and merry company that 


THE HOUSE IN LONDON 


135 


stood, and moved, chatted and laughed within the 
narrow confines of that small second-floor room in 
the gloomy house in Bath Street. 

The walls themselves were dingy and bare, washed 
down with some grayish color, which had long since 
been defaced by the grime and dust of London. 
Thick curtains of a nondescript hue fell in straight 
folds before each window, and facing these there was 
another door — double paneled — which apparently 
led to an inner room. 

But the place itself was brilliantly illuminated 
with many wax candles set in chandeliers. These 
stood on the several small tables which were dotted 
about the room. 

These tables — covered with green baize, — and a 
number of chairs of various shapes and doubtful 
solidity were the only furniture of the room, but in 
an arched recess in the wall a plaster figure holding 
a cornucopia, from whence fell in thick profusion the 
plaister presentments of the fruits of this earth, 
stood on an elevated pedestal, which had been 
draped with crimson velvet. 

The goddess of Fortune, with a broken nose and 
a paucity of fingers, dominated the brilliant assem- 
bly, from the height of her crimson throne. Her 
head had been crowned with a tall peaked modish 
beaver hat, from which a purple feather rakishly 
swept over the goddess’ left ear. An ardent de- 
votee had deposited a copper coin in her extended, 
thumbless hand, whilst another had fixed a row of 
candle stumps at her feet. 


136 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

There was nothing visible in this brilliantly 
lighted room of the sober modes to which the eye of 
late had become so accustomed. Silken doublets' 
of bright and even garish colors stood out in bold 
contrast against the gray monotone of the walls and 
hangings. Fantastic buttons, tags and laces, gor- 
geously embroidered cuffs and collars edged with 
priceless Mechlin or d’ Alenin, bunches of ribbands 
at knee and wrists, full perriwigs and over-wide 
boot-hose tops were everywhere to be seen, whilst the 
clink of swords against the wooden boards and fre- 
quent volleys of loudly spoken French oaths, testi- 
fied to the absence of those Puritanic fashions and 
customs which had become the general rule even in 
London. 

Some of the company sat in groups round the 
green-topped tables whereon cards or dice and heaps 
of gold and smaller coins lay in profusion. Others 
stood about watching the games or chatting to one 
another. Mostly men they were, some old, some 
young — but there were women too, women in showy 
kirtles, with bare shoulders showing well above the 
colverteen kerchief and faces wherein every line had 
been obliterated by plentiful daubs of cosmetics. 
They moved about the room from table to table, 
laughing, talking, making comments on the games 
as these proceeded. 

The men apparently were all intent — either as 
actual participants or merely as spectators — upon 
a form of amusement which His Highness the Lord 


THE HOUSE IN LONDON 137 

Protector had condemned as wanton and contrary 
to law. 

The newcomers soon divested themselves of their 
immense dark cloaks, and they too appeared in 
showy apparel of silk and satin, with tiny bows of 
ribband at the ends of the long curls which fell both 
sides of their faces, and with enormous frills of lace 
inside the turned-over tops of their boots. 

Lord Walterton quite straddled in his gait, so 
wide were his boot tops, and there was an extraor- 
dinary maze of tags and ribbands round the edge of 
Sir James Overbury’s breeches. 

“ Make your game, gentlemen, make your game,” 
said the latter as he advanced further into the room. 
And his tired, sleepy eyes brightened at sight of the 
several tables covered with cards and dice, the gut- 
tering candles, the mountains of gold and small coin 
scattered on the green baize tops. 

“ Par Dieu ! but ’tis a sight worth seeing after 
the ugly sour faces one meets in town these days ! ” 
he added, gleefully rubbing his beringed hands one 
against the other. 

“ But where is our gracious hostess,” added Lord 
Walterton, a melancholy-looking young man with 
pale-colored eyes and lashes, and a narrow chest. 

“You are thrice welcome, my lord!” said Editha 
de Chavasse, whose elegant figure now detached it- 
self from amongst her guests. 

She looked very handsome in her silken kirtle of 
a brilliant greenish hue, lace primer, and high-heeled 


138 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


shoes — relics of her theatrical days ; her head was 
adorned with the bunches of false curls which the 
modish hairdressers were trying to introduce. The 
plentiful use of cosmetics had obliterated the rav- 
ages of time and imparted a youthful appearance to 
her face, whilst excitement not unmixed with appre- 
hension lent a bright glitter to her dark eyes. 

Lord Walterton and Sir James Overbury lightly 
touched with their lips the hand which she extended 
to them. Their bow too was slight, though they 
tossed their curls as they bent their heads in the 
most approved French fashion. But there was a 
distinct note of insolence, not altogether unmixed 
with irony, in the freedom with which they had 
greeted her. 

“I met de Chavasse in town to-day,” said Lord 
Walterton, over his .shoulder before he mixed with 
the crowd. 

“Yes! he will be here to-night,” she rejoined. 
Sir James Overbury also made a casual remark but 
it was evident that the intention and purpose of 
these gay gentlemen was not the courteous enter- 
tainment of their hostess. Like so many men of all 
times and all nations in this world, they were ready 
enough to enjoy what she provided for them — the 
illicit pastime which they could not get elsewhere — 
but they despised her for giving it them, and cared 
naught for the heavy risks she ran in keeping up 
this house for their pleasure. 


CHAPTER XV 


A GAME OF PRIMEEO 

AT a table in the immediate center of the room a 
rotund gentleman in doublet and breeches of 
cinnamon brown taffyta and voluminous lace cuffs 
at the wrists was presiding over a game of Spanish 
primero. 

A simple game enough, not difficult of compre- 
hension, yet vastly exciting, if one may form a judg- 
ment of its qualities through watching the faces of 
the players. 

The rotund gentleman dealt a card face down- 
wards to each of his opponents, who then looked at 
their cards and staked on them, by pushing little 
piles of gold or silver forward. 

Then the dealer turned up his own card, and 
gave the amount of the respective stakes to those 
players whose card was of higher value than his 
own, whilst sweeping all other moneys to swell his 
own pile. 

A simple means forsooth of getting rid of any 
superfluity of cash. 

44 Art winning, Endicott? ” queried Lord Wal- 
terton as, he stood over the other man, looking 
down on the game. 

Endicott shrugged his fat shoulders, and gave 
an enigmatic chuckle. 


139 


140 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

44 I pay King and Ace only,” he called out imper- 
turbably, as he turned up a Queen. 

Most of the stakes came to swell his own pile, 
but he passed a handful of gold to a hollow-eyed 
youth who sat immediately opposite to him, and who 
clutched at the money with an eager, trembling 
grasp. 

44 You have all the luck to-night, Segrave,” he 
said with an oily smile directed at the winner. 

44 Make your game, gentlemen,” he added almost 
directly, as he once more began to deal. 

44 I pay Knave upwards ! ” he declared, turning 
up the ten of clubs. 

44 Mine is the ten of hearts,” quoth one of the 
players. 

44 Ties pay the bank,” quoth Endicott imperturb- 
ably. 

44 Mine is a Queen,” said Segrave in a hollow tone 
of voice. 

Endicott with a comprehensive oath threw the en- 
tire pack of cards into a distant corner of the room. 

44 A fresh pack, mistress,” he shouted peremptor- 

Then as an overdressed, florid woman, with high 
bullhead fringe and old-fashioned Spanish farthin- 
gale, quickly obeyed his behests, he said with a coarse 
laugh : 

44 Fresh cards may break Mr. Segrave’s luck and 
improve yours, Sir Michael.” 

44 Before this round begins,” said Sir James Over- 
bury who was standing close behind Lord Walter- 


A GAME OF PRIMERO 


141 


ton, also watching the game, 44 I will bet you, Wal- 
terton, that Segrave wins again.” 

“ Done with you,” replied the other, 44 and I’ll 
back mine own opinion by taking a hand.” 

The florid woman brought him a chair, and he 
sat down at the table, as Endicott once more began 
to deal. 

44 Five pounds that Segrave wins,” said Over- 
bury. 

44 A Queen,” said Endicott turning up his card. 
44 1 pay King and Ace only.” 

Everyone had to pay the bank, for all turned up 
low cards, Segrave alone had not yet turned his up. 

44 Well! what is your card, Mr. Segrave? ” queried 
Lord Walterton lightly. 

44 An Ace ! ” said Segrave simply, displaying the 
ace of hearts. 

44 No good betting against the luck,” said young 
Walterton lightly, as he handed five sovereigns over 
to his friend, 44 moreover it spoils my system.” 

44 Ye play primero on a system ! ” quoth Sir 
Michael Isherwood in deep amazement. 

44 Yes ! ” replied the young man. 44 I have played 
on it for years . . . and it is infallible ’pon 

my honor.” 

In the meanwhile the doors leading to the second 
room had been thrown open, serving men and women 
advanced carrying trays on which were displayed 
glasses and bottles filled with Rhenish wine and 
Spanish canary and muscadel, also buttered ale and 
mead and hypocras for the ladies. 


142 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

Editha did not occupy herself with serving but 
the florid woman was most attentive to the guests. 
She darted in and out between the tables, managing 
her unwieldy farthingale with amazing skill. She 
poured out the wines, and offered tarts and dishes 
of anchovies and of cheese, also strange steaming 
beverages lately imported into England called coffee 
and chocolate. 

The women liked the latter, and supped it out of 
mugs, with many little cries of astonishment and 
appreciation of its sugariness. 

The men drank heavily, chiefly of the heady Span- 
ish wines ; they ate the anchovies and cheese with 
their fingers, and continually called for more re- 
freshments. 

Play was of necessity interrupted. Groups of 
people eating and drinking congregated round the 
tables. The men mostly discussed various phases 
of the game; there was so little else for idlers to 
talk about these days. No comedies or other diver- 
sions, neither cock-fighting nor bear baiting, and 
abuse of my Lord Protector and his rigorous dis- 
ciplinarian laws had already become stale. 

The women talked dress and coiffure, the new 
puffs, the fanciful pinners. 

But at the center table Segrave still sat, refusing 
all refreshment, waiting with obvious impatience for 
the ending of this unwelcome interval. When first 
he found himself isolated in the crowd, he had 
counted over with febrile eagerness the money which 
lay in a substantial heap before him. 


A GAME OF PRIMERO 


143 


66 Saved ! 55 he muttered between his teeth, speak- 
ing to himself like one who is dreaming, 44 Saved ! 
. . . Thank God! . . . Two hundred and 

fifty pounds . . . only another fifty and I’ll 
never touch these cursed cards again . . . only 

another fifty. . . 

He buried his face in his hands : the moisture 
stood out in heavy drops on his forehead. He 
looked all round him with ever growing impatience. 

44 My God! why don’t they come back! . . . 
Another fifty pounds . . . and I can put the 
money back . . . before it has been missed 
. . Oh ! why don’t they come back ! ” 

Quite a tragedy expressed in those few muttered 
words, in the trembling hands, the damp forehead. 
Money taken from an unsuspecting parent, guard- 
ian or master, which? What matter? A tragedy 
of ordinary occurrence even in those days when so- 
cial inequalities were being abolished by act of Par- 
liament. 

In the meanwhile Lord Walterton, halting of 
speech, insecure of foothold, after his third bumper 
of heady sack was explaining to Sir Michael Isher- 
wood the mysteries of his system for playing the 
noble game of primero. 

44 It is sure to break the bank in time,” he said 
confidently, 44 I am for going to Paris where play 
runs high, and need not be carried on in this hole 
and comer fashion to suit cursed Puritanical ideas.” 

44 Tell me your secret, Walterton,” urged worthy 
Sir Michael, whose broad Shropshire acres were 


144 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

heavily mortgaged, after the rapine and pillage of 
civil war. 

“Well! I can but tell you part, my friend,” re- 
joined the other, “ yet ’tis passing simple. You 
begin with one golden guinea . . . and lose it 

. . . then you put up two and lose again. . . .” 

“ Passing simple,” assented Sir Michael ironic- 
ally. 

“ But after that you put up four guineas.” 

“ And lose it.” 

“ Yea ! yea ! mayhap you lose it but 

then you put eight guineas . . . and win. 

. Whereupon you are just as you were be- 
fore.” 

And with a somewhat unsteady hand the young 
man raised a bumper to his lips, whilst eying Sir 
Michael with the shifty and inquiring eye peculiar 
to the intoxicated. 

“ Meseems that if you but abstain from playing 
altogether,” quoth Sir Michael impatiently, “ the 
result would still be the same. . . . And sup- 
pose you lose the eight guineas, what then? ” 

“Oh! ’tis vastly simple — you put up sixteen.” 

“ But if you lose that ? ” 

“ Put up thirty-two. . . .” 

“ But if you have not thirty-two guineas to put 
up ? ” urged Sir Michael, who was obstinate. 

“Nay! then, my friend,” said Lord Walterton 
with a laugh which soon broke into an ominous hic- 
cough, “ ye must not in that case play upon my 
system.” 


A GAME OF PRIMERO 


145 


“ Well said, my lord,” here interposed Endicott, 
who had most moderately partaken of a cup of 
hypocras, and whose eye and hand were as steady 
as heretofore. “Well said pardi ! . . . My old 

friend the Marquis of Swarthmore used oft to say 
in the good old days of Goring’s Club, that ’twas 
better to lose on a system, than to play on no sys- 
tem at all.” 

“ A smart cavalier, old Swarthmore,” assented 
Sir Michael gruffly, “ and nathless a true friend to 
you, Endicott,” he added significantly. 

“ Another deal, Mister Endicott,” said Segrave, 
who for the last quarter of an hour had vainly tried 
to engage the bank-holder’s attention. 

Nor was Lord Walterton averse to this. The 
more the wine got into his head, the more unsteady 
his hand became, the more strong was his desire to 
woo the goddess whose broken-nosed image seemed 
to be luring him to fortune. 

“ You are right, Mr. Segrave,” he said thickly, 
“ we are wasting valuable time. Who knows but 
what old Noll’s police-patrol are lurking in this cut- 
throat alley? . . . Endicott, take the bank 
again. . . . I’ll swear I’ll ruin ye ere the moon 

— which I do not see — disappears down the horizon. 
Sir Michael, try my system. . . . Overbury, 

art a laggard ? . . . Let us laugh and be 
merry — to-morrow is the Jewish Sabbath — and after 
that Puritanic Sunday . . . after which may- 

hap, we’ll all go to hell, driven thither by my Lord 
Protector. Wench, another bumper . . . ca- 


146 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


nary, sack or muscadel ... no thin Rhenish 
wine shall e’er defile this throat ! Gentlemen, take 
your places. . . . Mistress Endicott, can none 

of these wenches discourse sweet music whilst we do 
homage to the goddess of Fortune? . . . To 

the tables ... to the tables, Gentlemen 
here’s to King Charles whom may God pro- 
tect . . . and all in defiance of my Lord Pro- 

tector ! ” 


CHAPTER XVI 


A CONFLICT 

TN the hubbub which immediately followed Lord 
Walterton’s tirade, Editha de Chavasse beck- 
oned to the florid woman — who seemed to be her 
henchwoman — and drew her aside to a distant 
comer of the room, where there were no tables nigh, 
and where the now subdued hum of the voices, 
mingling with the sound of music on virginal and 
stringed instruments, made a murmuring noise which 
effectually drowned the talk between the two women. 

> 44 Have you arranged everything, Mistress Endi- 
cott? ” asked Editha, speaking in a whisper. 

44 Everything, Mistress,” replied the other. 

44 Endicott understands ? ” 

44 Perfectly,” said the woman, with perceptible 
hesitation, 44 but . . .” 

44 What ails you, Mistress ? ” asked Editha 
haughtily, noting the hesitation, and frowning with 
impatience thereat. 

44 My husband thinks the game too dangerous.” 

46 1 was not aware,” retorted Mrs. de Chavasse 
drily, 44 that I had desired Master Endicott’s opinion 
on the subject.” 

44 Mayhap not,” rejoined the other, equally drily, 
44 but you did desire his help in the matter . . . 

and he seems unmindful to give it.” 


148 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


“ Why?” 

“ I have explained . . . the game is too 

dangerous.” 

“Or the payment insufficient?” sneered Editha. 
“ Which is it? ” 

“ Both mayhap,” assented Mrs. Endicott with a 
careless shrug of her fat shoulders, “ the risks are 
very great. To-night especially. . . .” 

“ Why especially to-night ? ” 

“ Because ever since you have been away from 
it, this house — though we did our best to make it 
seem deserted — hath been watched — of that I feel 
very sure. . . . My Lord Protector’s watch- 
men have a suspicion of our . . . our evening 

entertainments . . . and I doubt not but that 

they desire to see for themselves how our guests en- 
joy themselves these nights.” 

“Well?” rejoined Editha lightly. “What of 
that? ” 

“ As you know, we did not play for nigh on 
twelve months now. . . . Endicott thought it 

too dangerous . . and to-night . . .” 

She checked herself abruptly for Editha had 
turned an angry face and flashing eyes upon her. 

“To-night?” said Mrs. de Chavasse curtly, but 
peremptorily, “ What of to-night ? ”... I 
sent you orders from Thanet that I wished the house 
opened to-night. . , . Lord Walterton, Sir 

James Overbury and as many of our usual friends 
as were in the town apprised that play would be in 
full progress. . . . Meseems,” she added, cast- 


A CONFLICT 149 

ing a searching look all round the room, “ that we 
have singularly few players.” 

“ It was difficult,” retorted the other with some- 
what more diffidence in her tone, than had charac- 
terized her speech before now. “ Young Squire Dela- 
mere committed suicide . . . you remember 

him? . . . and Lord Cooke killed Sir Hum- 

phrey Clinton in a duel after that fracas we had 
here, when the police-patrol well-nigh seized upon 
your person . . . Squire Delamere’s suicide 

and Sir Humphrey’s death caused much unpleasant 
talk. And old Mistress Delamere, the mother, hath 
I fear me, still a watchful eye on us. She means to 
do us lasting mischief. ... It had been wiser 
to tarry yet awhile. . . . Twelve months is not 

sufficient for throwing the dust of ages over us and 
our doings. . . . That is my husband’s opinion 

and also mine. ... A scandal such as you pro- 
pose to have to-night, will bring the Protector’s 
spies about our ears . . . his police too, may- 
hap . . . and then Heaven help us all, Mis- 
tress . . . for you, in the country, cannot con- 

ceive how rigorously are the laws enforced now 
against gambling, betting, swearing or any other 
form of innocent amusement. . . . Why! two 

wenches were whipped at the post by the public 
hangman only last week, because forsooth they were 
betting on the winner amongst themselves, whilst 
watching a bout of pell-mell. . . . And you 

know that John Howthill stood in the pillory for two 
hours and had both his hands bored through with 


150 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

a hot iron for allowing gambling inside his coffee- 
house. . . . And so mistress you will perceive 

that I am speaking but in your own inter- 
ests. . . .” 

Editha, who had listened to the long tirade with 
marked impatience, here interrupted the voluble 
lady, with harsh command. 

* 4 I crave your pardon, mistress,” she said per- 
emptorily. 44 My interests pre-eminently consist in 
being obeyed by those whom I pay for doing my be- 
hests. Now you and your worthy husband live here 
rent free and derive a benefit of ten pounds every 
time our guests assemble. . . . Well! in return 

for that, I make use of you and your names, in 
case of any unpleasantness with the vigilance pa- 
trol . . . or in case of a scandal which might 

reach my Lord Protector’s ears. . . . Up to 

this time your positions here have been a sinecure. 

. I even bore the brunt of the last fracas 
whilst you remained practically scathless. 

But to-night, I own it, there may be some risks 
. . but of a truth you have been well paid to 

take them.” 

44 But if we refuse to take the risks,” retorted the 
other. 

44 If you refuse, mistress,” said Editha with a 
careless shrug of the shoulders, 44 you and your 
worthy lord go back to the gutter where I picked 
you up . . . and within three months of that 

time, I should doubtless have the satisfaction of see- 
ing you both at the whipping post, for of a truth 


A CONFLICT 


151 


you would be driven to stealing or some other 
equally unavowable means of livelihood.” 

44 We could send you there,” said Mrs. Endicott, 
striving to suppress her own rising fury, 44 if we but 
said the word.” 

44 Nay! you would not be believed, mistress 
but even so, I do not perceive how my so- 
cial ruin would benefit you.” 

44 Since we are doomed anyhow . . . after 

this night’s work,” said the woman sullenly. 

44 Nay! but why should you take so gloomy a 
view of the situation. . . . My Lord Protector 

hath forgot our existence by now, believe me . . 

and of a surety his patrol hath not yet knocked at 
our door. . . . And methinks, mistress,” added 

Editha significantly, 44 ’tis not in your interest to 
quarrel with me.” 

44 I have no wish to quarrel with you,” quoth Mrs. 
Endicott, who apparently had come to the end, of 
her resistance, and no doubt had known all along 
that her fortunes were too much bound up with those 
of Mrs. de Chavasse to allow of a rupture between 
them. 

44 Then everything is vastly satisfactory,” said 
Editha with forced gayety. 44 I rely on you, mis- 
tress, and on Endicott’s undoubted talents to bring 
this last matter to a successful issue to-night. 

Remember, mistress ... I rely on 

you.” 

Perhaps Mistress Endicott would have liked to 
have prolonged the argument. As a matter of fact 


152 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


neither she nor her husband counted the risks of a 
midnight fracas of great moment to themselves : 
they had so very little to lose. A precarious ex- 
istence based on illicit deeds of all sorts had ren- 
dered them hard and reckless. 

All they wished was to be well paid for the risks 
they ran : neither of them was wholly unacquainted 
with the pillory, and it held no great terrors for 
them. There were so many unavowable pleasures 
these days, which required a human cloak to cover 
the identity of the real transgressor, that people 
like Mr. and Mrs. Endicott prospered vastly. 

The case of Mrs. de Chavasse’s London house 
wherein the ex-actress had some few years ago es- 
tablished a gaming club, together with its various 
emoluments attached thereunto, suited the End*i- 
cott’s requirements to perfection : but the woman de- 
sired an increase of payment for the special risk 
she would run to-night, and was sorely vexed that 
she could not succeed in intimidating Editha with 
threats of vigilance-patrol and whipping posts. 

Mrs. de Chavasse knew full well that the Endi- 
cott’s did not intend to quarrel with her, and having 
threatened rupture unless her commands were obeyed, 
she had no wish to argue the matter further with 
her henchwoman. 

At that moment, too, there came the sound of 
significant and methodical rappings at the door. 
Editha, who had persistently throughout her dis- 
cussion with Mrs. Endicott, kept one ear open for 
that sound, heard it even through the buzz of talk. 


A CONFLICT 


153 


She made a scarcely visible gesture of the hand, 
bidding the other woman to follow her: that gesture 
was quickly followed by a look of command. 

Mrs. Endicott presumably had finally made up 
her mind to obey. She shrugged her fat shoulders 
and followed Mrs. de Chavasse as far as the center 
of the room. 

“ Remember that you are the hostess now,” mur- 
mured Editha to her, as she herself went to the door 
and opened it. 

With an affected cry of surprise and pleasure she 
welcomed Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, who was 
standing on the threshold, prepared to enter and 
escorted by his young secretary, Master Richard 
Lambert. 


CHAPTER XVII 


RUS IN TJRBE 

NE or two of the men looked up as de Chavasse 
entered, but no one took much notice of him. 

Most of those present remembered him from the 
past few years when still with pockets well filled 
through having forestalled Lady Sue’s maintenance 
money, he was an habitual frequenter of some of 
the smart secret clubs in town; but here, just the 
same as elsewhere, Sir Marmaduke was not a popu- 
lar man, and many there were who had unpleasant 
recollections of his surly temper and uncouth ways, 
whenever fickle Fortune happened not to favor him. 

Even now, he looked sullen and disagreeable as 
having exchanged a significant glance with his sis- 
ter-in-law, he gave a comprehensive nod to the as- 
sembled guests, which had nothing in it either of 
cordiality or of good-will. He touched Editha’s 
finger tips with his lips, and then advanced into the 
room. 

Here he was met by Mrs. Endicott, who had ef- 
fectually thrown off the last vestige of annoyance 
and of rebellion, for she greeted the newcomer with 
marked good-humor and an encouraging smile. 

“ It is indeed a pleasure to see that Sir Marma- 
duke de Chavasse hath not forgot old friends,” she, 
said pleasantly. 


154 


RUS IN URBE 


155 


“ It was passing kind, gracious mistress,” he re- 
sponded, forcing himself to speak naturally and in 
agreeable tones, “ to remember an insignificant 
country bumpkin like myself . . . and you see 

I have presumed on your lavish hospitality and 
brought my young friend, Master Richard Lam- 
bert, to whom you extended so gracious an invita- 
tion.” 

He turned to Lambert, who a little dazed to 
find himself in such brilliant company, had some- 
what timidly kept close to the heels of his employer. 
He thought Mrs. Endicott vulgar and over-dressed 
the moment he felt bold enough to raise his eyes to 
hers. But he chided himself immediately for thus 
daring to criticize his betters. 

His horizon so far had been very limited, only 
quite vaguely had he heard of town and Court life. 
The little cottage where dwelt the old Quakeress who 
had brought him and his brother up, and the tum- 
ble-down, dilapidated house of Sir Marmaduke de 
Chavasse were the only habitations in which he was 
intimate. The neighboring Kentish Squires, Sir 
Timothy Harrison, Squire Pyncheon and Sir John 
Boatfield were the only presentations of “ gentle- 
men ” which he had ever seen. 

Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had somewhat curtly 
given him orders the day before, that he was to ac- 
company him to London, whither he himself had to 
go to consult his lawyer. Lambert had naturally 
obeyed, without murmur, but with vague trepida- 


156 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

tions at thought of this, his first journey into the 
great town. 

Sir Marmaduke had been very kind, had given 
him a new suit of grogram, lined with flowered silk, 
which Lambert thought the richest garment which 
he had ever seen. He was very loyal in his thoughts 
to his employer, bearing with the latter’s violence 
and pandering to his fits of ill-humor for the sake 
of the home which Sir Marmaduke had provided for 
him. 

To Lambert’s mind, Sir Marmaduke’s kindness to 
him was wholly gratuitous. His own position as 
secretary being but a sinecure, the young man read- 
ily attributed de Chavasse’s interest in himself to 
innate goodness of heart, and desire to help the 
poor orphan lad. 

This estimate of his employer’s character Richard 
Lambert had not felt any cause to modify. He con- 
tinued to serve him faithfully, to look after his in- 
terests in and around Acol Court to the best of his 
ability ; above all he continued to be whole-heartedly 
grateful. He was so absolutely conscious of the im- 
passable social barrier which existed between him- 
self and the rich daughter of the great Earl of 
Dover, that he never for a moment resented Sir 
Marmaduke’s sneers when they were directed against 
his obvious, growing love for Sue. 

Remember that he had no cause to suspect Sir 
Marmaduke de Chavasse of any nefarious projects 
or of any evil intentions with regard to himself, 


RUS IN URBE 


157 


when he told him that together they would go this 
night to the house of an old friend, Mrs. Endicott, 
where they would derive much pleasure and enter- 
tainment. 

They had spent the previous night at the Swan 
Inn in Fleet Street and the day in visiting the beau- 
tiful sights of London, which caused the young lad 
from the country to open wide eyes in astonishment 
and pleasure. 

Sir Marmaduke had been peculiarly gracious even 
taking Richard with him to the Frenchman’s house 
in Queen’s Head Alley, where that curious bever- 
age called coffee was dispensed and where several 
clever people met and discussed politics in a manner 
which was vastly interesting to the young man. 

Then when the evening began to draw in, and 
Lambert thought it high time to go to bed, for 
’twas a pity to bum expensive candles longer than 
was necessary, Sir Marmaduke had astonished his 
secretary by telling him that he must now clean and 
tidy himself for they would proceed to the house of 
a great lady named Mistress Endicott — a friend of 
the ex-Queen Henrietta Maria and a lady of pecul- 
iar virtues and saintliness, who would give them 
vast and pleasing entertainment. 

Lambert was only too ready to obey. Enjoyment 
came naturally to him inside of his Quaker bring- 
ing-up : his youth, good-health and pure, naturally 
noble intellect all craved after companionship with 
its attendant pleasures and its joys. He himself 
could not afterwards have said exactly how he had 


158 NEST OF +HE SPARROWHAWK 

pictured in his mind the saintly lady — friend of the 
unhappy Queen — whom he was to meet this night. 

Certainly Mrs. Endicott, with her red face sur- 
mounted by masses of curls that were obviously 
false, since they did not match the rest of her hair, 
was not the ideal paragon of all the virtues, and 
when he was first made to greet her, a strange, un- 
reasoning instinct seemed to draw him away from 
her, to warn him to fly from this noisy company, 
from the sight of those many faces, all unnaturally 
flushed, and from the sounds of those strange oaths 
which greeted his ears from every side. 

A great wave of thankfulness came over him that 
his gracious lady — innocent, tender, beautiful Lady 
Sue, had not come to London with her guardian. 
Whilst he gazed on the marvels of Westminster 
Hall and of old Saint Paul’s he had longed that she 
should be near him, so that he might w T atch the 
brilliance of her eyes, and the glow of pleasure which, 
of a surety would have mantled in her cheeks when 
she was shown the beauties of the great city. 

But now he was glad — very glad, that Sir Mar- 
maduke had so sternly ordained that she should re- 
main these few days alone at Acol in charge of Mis- 
tress Charity and of Master Busy. At the time he 
had chafed bitterly at his own enforced silence; 
he would have given all he possessed in the world 
for the right to warn Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse 
that a wolf was prowling in the fold under cover of 
the night. He had seen Lady Sue’s eyes brighten at 


RUS IN URBE 


159 


the dictum that she was to remain behind — they told 
him in eloquent language the joy she felt to be free 
for two days that she might meet her prince undis- 
turbed. 

But all these thoughts and fears had fled, the 
moment Lambert found himself in the midst of these 
people, whom he innocently believed to be great 
ladies and noble gentlemen, friends of his employer 
Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse. It seemed to him at 
once as if there was something here — in this room 
— which he would not wish Lady Sue to see. 

He was clumsy and gauche in his movements as 
he took the hand which Mrs. Endictt extended to 
him, but he tried to imitate the salute which he had 
seen his employer give on the flat — not very clean 
— finger-tips of the lady. 

She was exceedingly gracious to him, saying with 
great kindliness and a melancholy sigh: 

44 Ah! you come from the country, Master? 
. , . So delightful, of a truth. . . . Milk 

for breakfast, eh? . . . you get up at dawn 

and go to bed at sunset? ... I know country 
life well — though alas ! duty now keeps me in town. 

But ’tis small wonder that you look so 

young ! ” 

He tried to talk to her of the country, for here 
she had touched on a topic which was dear to him. 
He knew all about the birds and beasts, the forests 
and the meadows, and being unused to the art of 
hypocritical interest, he took for real sympathy the 
lady’s vapid exclamations of enthusiasm, with which 


160 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

she broke in now and again upon his flow of elo- 
quence. 

Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, who was watching 
the young man with febrile keenness, had the satis- 
faction to note that very soon Richard began to 
throw off his bucolic timidity, his latent yet dis- 
tinctly perceptible disapproval of the company into 
which he had been brought. He sought out his sis- 
ter-in-law and drew her attention to Lambert in 
close conversation with Mrs. Endicott. 

“ Is everything arranged?” he asked under his 
breath. 

“Everything,” she replied. 

“No trouble with our henchmen? ” 

“ A little . . . but they are submissive now.” 

“ What is the arrangement ? ” 

“ Persuade young Lambert to take a hand at 
primero . . . Endicott will do the rest.” 

“ Who is in the know ? ” he queried, after a slight 
pause, during which he watched his unsuspecting 
victim with a deep frown of impatience and of hate. 

“ Only the Endicotts ? ” she explained. 

But do you think that he will play? ” she added, 
casting an anxious look on her brother-in-law’s face. 

He nodded affirmatively. 

“ Yes ! ” he said curtly. “ I can arrajige that, as 
soon as you are ready.” 

She turned from him and walked to the center 
table. She watched the game for awhile, noting 
that young Segrave was still the winner, and that 
Lord Walterton was very flushed and excited. 


RUS IN URBE 161 

Then she caught Endicott’s eye, and immediately 
lowered her lashes twice in succession. 

44 Ventre saint gris ! ” swore Endicott with an un- 

44 Ventre-saint-gris ! ” swore Endicott with an un- 
mistakeable British accent in the French expletive, 
44 but I’ll play no more. . . . The bank is 

broken . . . and I have lost too much money. 

Mr. Segrave there has nearly cleaned me 
out and still I cannot break his luck.” 

He rose abruptly from his chair, even as Mrs. de 
Chavasse quietly walked away from the table. 

But Lord Walterton placed a detaining, though 
very trembling hand on the cinnamon-colored 
sleeve. 

44 Nay! parbleu! ye cannot go like this, 
good Master Endicott . . he said, speaking 

very thickly, 44 1 want another round or two 
’pon my honor I do ... I haven’t lost nearly 
all I meant to lose.” 

44 Ye cannot stop play so abruptly, Master,” said 
Segrave, whose eyes shone with unnatural glitter, 
and whose cheeks were covered with a hectic flush, 
44 ye cannot leave us all in the lurch.” 

44 Nay! I doubt not my young friend,” quoth 
Endicott gruffly, 44 that you would wish to play all 
night. . . . You have won all my money and 

Lord Walt ert on’s too.” 

44 And most of mine,” added Sir Michael Isher- 
wood ruefully. 

44 Why should not Mr. Segrave take the bank,” 
here came in shrill accents from Mrs. Endicott who 


162 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

throughout her conversation with Lambert had kept 
a constant eye on what went on round her hus- 
band’s table. “ He seems the only moneyed man 
amongst you all,” she added with a laugh, which 
grated most unpleasantly on Richard’s ear. 

“ I will gladly take the bank,” said Segrave 
eagerly. 

44 Pardi ! I care not who hath the bank,” quoth 
Lord Walterton, with the slow emphasis of the in- 
ebriated. 44 My system takes time to work. 

And I stand to lose a good deal unless 
hie . . . unless I win ! ” 

44 You are not where you were, when you began,” 
commented Sir Michael grimly. 

44 By Gad, no ! . . . hie. . . . but ’tis 
no matter. . . . Give me time ! ” 

44 Methought I saw Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse 
just now,” said Endicott, looking about him. 44 Ah! 
and here comes our worthy baronet,” he added 
cheerily as Sir Marmaduke’s closely cropped head 
— very noticeable in the crowd of perriwigs — 
emerged from amdist the group that clustered round 
Mrs. Endicott. “A hand at primero, sir?” 

44 I thank you, no ! ” replied Sir Marmaduke, 
strviing to master his habitual ill-humor and to 
speak pleasantly. 44 My luck hath long since de- 
serted me, if it e’er visited me at all. A fact of 
which I grow daily more doubtful.” 

44 But ventre-saint-gris ! ” ejaculated Lord Wal- 
terton, who showed no inclination to become quarrel- 
some in his cups, 44 we must have someone to take 


RUS IN tJRBE 


163 


Endicott’s place, I cannot work my system . 
hie . ... if so few play. . . .” 

“ Perhaps your young friend, Sir Marmaduke 
. . .” suggested Mrs. Endicott, waving an em- 

broidered handkerchief in the direction of Richard 
Lambert. 

“ No doubt! no doubt! ” rejoined Sir Marmaduke, 
turning with kindly graciousness to his secretary. 
“ Master Lambert, these gentlemen are requiring 
another hand for their game ... I pray you 
join in with them. . . .” 

“ I would do so with pleasure, Sir,” replied Lam- 
bert still unsuspecting, “ but I fear me I am a com- 
plete novice at cards. . . . What is the 

game? ” 

He was vaguely distrustful of cards, for he had 
oft heard this pastime condemned as ungodly by 
those with whom he had held converse in his early 
youth, nevertheless it did not occur to him that there 
might be anything wrong in a game which was coun- 
tenanced by Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, whom he 
knew to be an avowed Puritan, and by the saintly 
lady who had been the friend of ex-Queen Hen- 
riette Marie. 

“ ’Tis a simple round game,” said Sir Marmaduke 
lightly, “ you would soon learn.” 

“ And . . .” said Lambert diffidently ques- 

tioning and eying the gold and silver which lay in 
profusion on the table, “ there is no money at stake 
. . of course? . . .” 

“Oh! only a little,” rejoined Mrs. Endicott, “a 


1 64 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


paltry trifle ... to add zest to the enjoy- 
ment of the game.” 

“ However little it may be, Sir Marmaduke,” said 
Lambert firmly, speaking directly to his employer, 
“ I humbly pray you to excuse me before these gen- 
tlemen . . .” 

The three players at the table, as well as the two 
Endicotts, had listened to this colloquy with vary- 
ing feelings. Segrave was burning with impatience, 
Lord Walterton was getting more and more frac- 
tious, whilst Sir Michael Isherwood viewed the young 
secretary with marked hauteur. At the last words 
spoken by Lambert there came from all these gentle- 
men sundry ejaculations, expressive of contempt or 
annoyance, which caused an ugly frown to appear 
between de Chavasse’s eyes, and a deep blush to rise 
in the young man’s pale cheek. 

“ What do you mean ? ” queried Sir Marmaduke 
harshly. 

“ There are other gentlemen here,” said Lambert, 
speaking with more firmness and decision now that 
he encountered inimical glances and felt as if some- 
how he was on his trial before all these people, 
“ and I am not rich enough to afford the luxury 
of gambling.” 

“Nay! if that is your difficulty,” rejoined Sir 
Marmaduke, “ I pray you, good Master, to com- 
mand my purse . . . you are under my wing 

to-night . . . and I will gladly bear the bur- 

den of your losses.” 

“ I thank you, Sir Marmaduke,” said the young 


RUS IN URBE 


165 


men, with quiet dignity, “ and I entreat you once 
again to excuse me. ... I have never staked 
at cards, either mine own money or that of others. 

. I would prefer not to begin.” 

“ Meseems . . . hie de Chavas.se 

that this . . . this young friend of yours is a 
hie . . . damned Puritan . . .” 
came in ever thickening accents from Lord Waiter- 
ton. 

“ I hope, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse,” here in- 
terposed Mr. Endicott with much pompous dignity, 
“ that your . . . hem . . . your young 

friend doth not desire to bring insinuations 
doubts mayhap against the honor of my house 
or of my friends ! ” 

“Nay! nay! good Mr. Endicott,” said Sir Mar- 
maduke speaking in tones that were so conciliatory, 
so unlike his own quarrelsome temper, quick at tak- 
ing offense, that Richard Lambert could not help 
wondering what was causing this change, “ Master 
Lambert hath no such intention — ’pon my honor. 

. He is young . . . and . . . and 

he misunderstands. . . . You see, my good 

Lambert,” he added once more turning to the young 
man, and still speaking with unwonted kindness and 
patience, “ you are covering yourself with ridicule 
and placing me — whom am your protector to-night 
— in a very awkward position. Had I known you 
were such a gaby I should have left you to go to 
bed alone.” 

“Nay! Sir Marmaduke,” here came in decisive 


166 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

accents from portly Mrs. Endicott, “ methinks ’tis 
you who misunderstand Master Lambert. He is of 
a surety an honorable gentleman, and hath no de- 
sire to insult me, who have ne’er done him wrong, 
nor yet my friends by refusing a friendly game of 
cards in my house ! ” 

She spoke very pointedly, causing her speech to 
seem like FOLIO 166 MISSING 

And if a chaste and pure woman did not disap- 
prove of a game of primero among friends, what' 
right had he to set up his own standard of right or 
wrong against hers? What right had he to con- 
demn what she approved? to offend his generous em- 
ployer, and to bring opprobrium and ridicule on 
himself which would of necessity redound against 
Sir Marmaduke also. 

Vague instinct still entered a feeble protest, but 
reason and commonsense and a certain undetermined 
feeling of what was due to himself socially — pood 
country bumpkin ! — fought a hard battle too. 

“ I am right, am I not, good Master Lambert? ” 
came in dulcet tones from the virtuous hostess, 
“ that you would not really refuse a quiet game of 
cards with my friends, at my entreaty ... in 
my house ? ” 

And Lambert, with a self-deprecatory sigh, and 
a shrug of the shoulders, said quietly: 

“ I have no option, gracious mistress ! ” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE TRAP 

T") ICHARD LAMBERT fortunately for his own 

* peace of mind and the retention of his dignity, 
was able to wave aside the hand full of gold and 
silver coins which Sir Marmaduke extended towards 
him. 

“ I thank you, Sir,” he said calmly ; “ I am able 
to bear the cost of mine own unavoidable weakness. 
I have money of mine own.” 

From out his doublet he took a tiny leather wal- 
let containing a few gold coins, his worldly all be- 
queathed to him the same as to his brother — so the 
old friend who had brought the lads up had oft 
explained — by his grandmother. The little satchel 
never left his person from the moment that the old 
Quakeress had placed it in his hands. There were 
but five guineas in all, to which he had added from 
time to time the few shillings which Sir Marmaduke 
paid him as salary. 

He chided his own weakness inwardly, when he 
felt the hot tears surging to his eyes at thought of 
the unworthy use to which his little hoard was about 
to be put. 

But he walked to the table with a bold step ; there 
was nothing now of the country lout about him ; on 
the contrary, he moved with remarkable dignity, 
16? 


168 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

and bore himself so well that many a pair of femi- 
nine eyes watched him kindly, as he took his seat at 
the baize-covered table. 

“ Will one of you gentlemen teach me the game? 99 
he asked simply. 

It was remarkable that no one sneered at him 
again, and in these days of arrogance peculiar to 
the upper classes this was all the more noticeable, 
as these secret clubs were thought to be very ex- 
clusive, the resort pre-eminently of gentlemen and 
noblemen who were anti-Puritan, anti-Republican, 
and very jealous of their ranks and privileges. 

Yet when after those few unpleasant moments of 
hesitation Lambert boldly accepted the situation and 
with much simple dignity took his seat at the table, 
everyone immediately accepted him as an equal, nor 
did anyone question his right to sit there on terms 
of equality with Lord Walterton or Sir Michael 
Isherwood. 

His own state of mind was very remarkable at 
the moment. 

Of course he disapproved of what he did: he 
would not have been the Puritanically trained, 
country-bred lad that he was if he had accepted 
with an easy conscience the idea of tossing about 
money from hand to hand, money that he could in 
no sense afford to lose, or money that no one was 
doing any honest effort to win. 

He knew — somewhat vaguely perhaps, yet with 
some degree of certainty — that gambling was an 
illicit pastime, and that therefore he — by sitting at 


THE TRAP 169 

this table with these gentlemen was deliberately con- 
travening the laws of his country. 

Against all that, it is necessary to note that 
Richard Lambert took two matters very much in 
earnest: firstly, his position as a paid dependent; 
secondly, his gratitude to Sir Marmaduke de Cha- 
vasse. 

And both these all-pervading facts combined to 
force him against his will into this anomalous posi- 
tion of gentlemanly gambler, which suited neither 
his temperament nor his principles. 

With it all Lambert’s was one of those disposi- 
tions often peculiar to those who have led an iso- 
lated and introspective life, which never would do 
heartedly; and just as he took his somewhat empty 
secretarial duties seriously, so did he look on this 
self-imposed task, against which his better judg- 
ment rebelled, with earnestness and determination. 

He listened attentively to the preliminary expla- 
nations given him sotto voce by Endicott. Segrave 
in the meanwhile had taken the latter’s place at the 
head of the table. He had put all his money in 
front of him, some two hundred and sixty pounds 
all told, for his winnings during the last half hour 
had not been as steady as heretofore, and he had 
not yet succeeded altogether in making up that 
sum of money for which he yearned with all the 
intensity of a disturbed conscience, eager to redeem 
one miserable fault by another hardly more avow- 
able. 


170 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

He shuffled the cards and dealt just as Endicott 
had done. 

“ Now will you look at your card, young Sir,” 
said Endicott, who stood behind Lambert’s chair, 
whispering directions in his ear. 66 A splendid card, 
hegad! and one on which you must stake freely. 

Nay! nay! that is not enough,” he added, 
hurriedly restraining the young man’s hand, who 
had timidly pushed a few silver coins forward. 
“ ’Tis thus you must do ! ” 

And before Lambert had time to protest the ro- 
tund man in the cinnamon doublet and the wide lace 
cuffs, had emptied the contents of the little leather 
wallet on to the table. 

Five golden guineas rested on Lambert’s card. 
Segrave turned up his own and declared: 

“ I pay Queen and upwards ! ” 

66 A two, by gad! ” said Lord Walterton, too con- 
fused in his feeble head now to display any real 
fury. “ Did anyone ever see such accursed luck? ” 
“ And look at this nine,” quoth Sir Michael, who 
had become very sullen ; “ not a card to-night ! ” 

“ I have a King ! ” said Lambert quietly. 

“ And as I had the pleasure to remark before, my 
dear young friend,” said Endicott blandly, “ ’tis a 
mighty good card to hold. . . . And see,” he 

continued, as Segrave without comment added five 
more golden guineas to Lambert’s little hoard, “ see 
how wise it was to stake a goodly sum. 

That is the whole art of the game of primero 
. . . to know just what to stake on each card 


THE TRAP 


171 


in accordance with its value and the law of averages. 
. . . But you will learn in time, young man 

you will learn. . . .” 

“ The game doth not appear to be vastly com- 
plicated, ” assented Lambert lightly. 

“ I have played primero on a system for years 
.” quoth Lord Walterton sententiously, “ but 
to-night . . . hie ... by Gad ! . . . 

I cannot make the system work right 
hie ! ” 

But already Segrave was dealing again. Lam- 
bert staked more coolly now. In his mind he had 
already set aside the original five guineas which 
came from his grandmother. With strange ease 
and through no merit of his own, yet perfectly 
straightforwardly and honestly, he had become the 
owner of another five; these he felt more justified in 
risking on the hazard of the game. 

But the goddess of Fortune smiling benignly on 
this country-bred lad, had in a wayward mood ap- 
parently taken him under her special protection. 
He staked and won again, and then again 
pleased at his success ... in spite of himself 
feeling the subtle poison of excitement creeping 
into his veins . . . yet remaining perfectly 

calm outwardly the while. 

Segrave, on the other hand, was losing in exact 
proportion to the newcomer’s winnings: already his 
pile of gold had perceptibly diminished, whilst the 
hectic flush on his cheeks became more and more 
accentuated, the glitter in his eyes more unnatural 


172 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

and feverish, his hands as they shuffled and dealt 
the cards more trembling and febrile. 

44 Ton my honor,” quoth Sir Marmaduke, throw- 
ing a careless glance at the table, 44 meseems you are 
in luck, my good Lambert. Nathless you are not 
sorry now that you allowed yourself to be per- 
suaded.” 

44 ’Tis not unpleasant to win,” rejoined Lambert 
lightly, 44 but believe me, Sir, the game itself gives 
me no pleasure.” 

44 1 pay knave and upwards,” declared Segrave 
in a dry and hollow voice, and with burning eyes 
fixed upon his new and formidable opponent. 

44 My last sovereign, par Dieu ! ” swore Lord 
Walterton, throwing the money across to Segrave 
with an unsteady hand. 

44 And one of my last,” said Sir Michael, as he 
followed suit. 

44 And what is your stake, Mr. Lambert ? ” queried 
Segrave. 

44 Twenty pounds I see,” replied the young man, 
as with a careless hand he counted over the gold 
which lay pell-mell on his card ; 44 I staked on the 
King without counting.” 

Segrave in his turn pushed some gold towards 
him. The pile in front of him was not half the 
size it had been before this stranger from the coun- 
try had sat down to play. He tried to remain mas- 
ter of himself, not to show before these egotistical, 
careless cavaliers all the agony of mind which he 


THE TRAP 173 

now endured and which had turned to positive phy- 
sical torture. 

The ghost of stolen money, of exposure, of pillory 
and punishment which had so perceptibly paled as 
he saw the chance of replacing by his unexpected 
winnings that which he had purloined, once more 
rose to confront him. Again he saw before him the 
iirascible employer, pointing with relentless finger 
at the deficiency in the accounts, again he saw his 
weeping mother, his stern father, the disgrace, the 
irretrievable past. 

“You are not leaving off playing, Sir Michael?” 
he asked anxiously, as the latter having handed him 
over a golden guinea, rose from the table and with- 
out glancing at his late partners in the game, turned 
his back on them all. 

“ Par Dieu ! ” he retorted, speaking roughly, and 
none too civilly over his shoulder, “ my pockets are 
empty. . . . Like Master Lambert here,” he 

added with an unmistakable sneer, “ I find no pleas- 
ure in this sort of game ! ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” queried Segrave hotly. 

“ Oh, nothing,” rejoined the other dryly, “ you 
need not heed my remark. Are you not losing, too ? ” 

“ What does he mean ? ” said Lambert with a 
puzzled frown, instinctively turning to his employer. 

“Naught! naught! my good Lambert,” replied 
Sir Marmaduke, dropping his voice to a whisper. 
“ Sir Michael Isherwood hath lost more than he can 
afford and is somewhat choleric of temper, that is 
all.” 


174 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


44 And in a little quiet game, my good young 
friend,” added Endicott also in a whisper, 44 ’tis 
wisest to take no heed of a loser’s vapors.” 

44 I pay ace only ! ” quoth Segrave triumphantly, 
who in the meanwhile had continued the game. 

Lord Walterton swore a loud and prolonged 
oath. He had staked five guineas on a king and 
had lost. 

44 Ventre saint gris, and likewise par le sang 
bleu ! ” he said, 44 the first time I have had a king ! 
Segrave ye must leave me these few little yellow 
toys, else I cannot pay for my lodgings to-night. 
. . . I’ll give you a bill . . . but I’ve had 
enough of this, by Gad ! ” 

And somewhat sobered, though still unsteady, he 
rose from the table. 

44 Surely, my lord, you are not leaving off, too P ” 
asked Segrave. 

44 Nay! . . . how can I continue?” He 

turned his breeches pockets ostentatiously inside 
out. 44 Behold, friend, these two beautiful and inno- 
cent little dears ! ” 

44 You can give me more bills . . .” urged 

Segrave, 44 and you lose . . . you may not lose 

after this . . . ’tis lucky to play on credit 

. . . and . . . and your bills are always 

met, my lord . . .” 

He spoke with feverish volubility, though his 
throat was parched and every word he uttered 
caused him pain. But he was determined that the 
game should proceed. 


THE TRAP 


175 


He had won a little of his own back again the 
last few rounds. Certainly his luck would turn once 
more. His luck must turn once more, or else . . . 

“Nay! nay! I’ve had enough,” said Lord Waiter- 
ton, nodding a heavy head up and down, “ there are 
too many of my bills about as it is. I’ve 

had enough.” 

“ Methinks, of a truth,” said Lambert decisively, 
“ that the game has indeed lasted long enough. 
. . . And if some other gentleman would but 

take my place . . .” 

He made a movement as if to rise from the table, 
but was checked by a harsh laugh and a peremp- 
tory word from Segrave. 

“ Impossible,” said the latter, “ you, Mister Lam- 
bert, cannot leave off in any case. . . . My 
lord . . . another hand . . .” he urged 
again. 

“Nay! nay! my dear Segrave,” replied Lord 
Walterton, shaking himself like a sleepy dog, “ the 
game hath ceased to have any pleasure for me, as 
our young friend here hath remarked. ... I 
wish you good luck . . . and good-night.” 

Whereupon he turned on his heel and straddled 
away to another corner of the room, away from the 
temptation of that green-covered table. 

“ We two then, Mr. Lambert,” said Segrave with 
ever-growing excitement, “ what say you? Double 
or quits ? ” 

And he pointed, with that same febrile movement 


176 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

of his, to the heap of gold standing on the table 
beside Lambert. 

“ As you please,” replied the latter quietly, as he 
pushed the entire pile forward. 

Segrave dealt, then turned up his card. 

“ Ten ! ” he said curtly. 

“ Mine is a knave,” rejoined Lambert. 

“ How do we stand? ” queried the other, as with 
a rapid gesture he passed a trembling hand over his 
burning forehead. 

“ Methinks you owe me a hundred pounds,” re- 
plied Richard, who seemed strangely calm in the 
very midst of this inexplicable and volcanic turmoil 
which he felt was seething all round him. He had 
won a hundred pounds — a fortune in those days for 
a country lad like himself ; but for the moment the 
thought of what that hundred pounds would mean 
to him and to his brother Adam was lost 'in the 
whirl of excitement which had risen to his head like 
wine. 

He had steadily refused the glasses of muscadel or 
sack which Mistress Endicott had insinuatingly and 
persistently been offering him, ever since he began 
to play; yet he felt intoxicated, with strange cur- 
rents of fire which seemed to run through his veins. 

The subtle poison had done its work. Any re- 
morse which he may have felt at first, for thus act- 
ing against his own will and better judgment, and 
for yielding like a weakling to persuasion, which 
had no moral rectitude for basis, was momentarily 


THE TRAP 


177 


smothered by the almost childish delight of winning, 
of seeing the pile of gold growing in front of him. 

He had never handled money before; it was like a 
fascinating yet insiduous toy which he could not 
help but finger. 

“Are you not playing rather high, gentlemen? ” 
came in dulcet tones from Mrs. Endicott ; “ I do not 
allow high play in my house. Mr. Lambert, I would 
fain ask you to cease.” 

“ I am more than ready, madam,” said Richard 
with alacrity. 

“ Nay! but I am not ready,” interposed Segrave 
vehemently. “Nay! nay!” he repeated with fever- 
ish insistence, “ Mister Lambert cannot cease play- 
ing now. He is bound in honor to give me a chance 
for revenge. . . . Double or quits, Mr. Lam- 
bert ! . . . Double or quits?” 

“ As you please,” quoth Lambert imperturbably. 

“Ye cannot cut to each other,” here interposed 
Endicott didactically. “ The rules of primero more- 
over demand, that if there are but two players, a 
third and disinterested party shall deal the cards.” 

“ Then will you cut and deal, Mr. Endicott,” said 
Segrave impatiently; “I care not so long as I can 
break Mr. Lambert’s luck and redeem mine own. 

Double or quits, Mr. Lambert. 

Double or quits. ... I shall either owe you 
two hundred pounds or not one penny. ... in 
which case we can make a fresh start. . . .” 

Lambert eyed him with curiosity, sympathetically 
too, for the young man was in a state of terrible 


178 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

mental agitation, whilst he himself felt cooler than 
before. 

Endicott dealt each of the two opponents a card 
face downwards, but even as he did so, the one which 
he had dealt to Lambert fluttered to the ground. 

He stooped and picked it up. 

Segrave’s eyes at the moment were fixed on his 
own card, Lambert’s on the face of his opponent. 
No one else in the room was paying any attention 
to the play of the two young men, for everyone was 
busy with his own affairs. Play was general, the 
hour late. The wines had been heady, and all tem- 
pers were at fever pitch. 

No one, therefore, was watching Endicott’s move- 
ments at the moment when he ostensibly stooped to 
pick up the fallen card. 

“ It is not faced,” he said, “ what shall we do? ” 

“ Give it to Mr. Lambert forsooth,” quoth Mis- 
tress Endicott, “ ’tis unlucky to re-deal . 
providing,” she added artfully, “ that Mr. Segrave 
hath no objection.” 

“Nay! nay!” said the latter. “Begad! why 
should we stop the game for a trifle? ” 

Then as Lambert took the card from Endicott 
and casually glanced at it, Segrave declared: 

“ Queen ! ” 

“ King ! ” retorted Lambert, with the same per- 
fect calm. “ King of diamonds . . . that card 

has been persistently faithful to me to-night.” 

“ The devil himself hath been faithful to you, Mr. 
Lambert . . .” said Segrave tonelessly, “ you 


THE TRAP 179 

have the hell’s own luck. . . . What do I pay 

you now? ” 

* It was double or quits, Mr. Segrave,” rejoined 
Lambert, “ which brings it up to two hundred 
pounds. . . . You will do me the justice to own 

that I did not seek this game.” 

In his heart he had already resolved not to make 
use of his own winnings. Somehow as in a flash of 
intuition he perceived the whole tragedy of dishonor 
and of ruin which seemed to be writ on his oppo- 
nent’s face. He understood that what he had re- 
garded as a toy — welcome no doubt, but treacher- 
ous for all that — was a matter of life or death — 
nay! more mayhap to that pallid youth, with the 
hectic flush, the unnaturally bright eyes and trem- 
bling hands. 

There was silence for a while round the green- 
topped table, whilst thoughts, feelings, presenti- 
ments of very varied kinds congregated there. With 
Endicott and his wife, and also with Sir Marma- 
duke, it was acute tension, the awful nerve strain of 
anticipation. The seconds for them seemed an eter- 
nity, the obsession of waiting was like lead on their 
brain. 

During that moment of acute suspense Richard 
Lambert was quietly co-ordinating his thoughts. 

With that one mental flash-light which had shown 
up to him the hitherto unsuspected tragedy, the 
latent excitement in him had vanished. He saw his 
own weakness in its true light, despised himself for 
having yielded, and looked upon the heap of gold 


180 NEST OF THE SPAEtROWHAWK 


before him as so much ill-gotten wealth, which it 
would be a delight to restore to the hand from 
whence it came. 

He heartily pitied the young man before him, and 
was forming vague projects of how best to make 
him understand in private and without humiliation 
that the money which he had lost would be returned 
to him in full. Strangely enough he was still hold- 
ing in his hand that king of diamonds which Endi- 
cott had dealt to him. 


CHAPTER XIX 


DISGRACE 

OEGRAVE, too, had been silent, of course. In 
^ his mind there was neither suspense nor calm. 
It was utter, dull and blank despair which assailed 
him, the ruin of his fondest hopes, an awful abyss of 
disgrace, of punishment, of death at best, which 
seemed to yawn before him from the other side of 
the baize-covered table. 

Instinct — that ever-present instinct of self-control 
peculiar to the gently-bred race of mankind — caused 
him to make frantic efforts to keep himself and his 
nerves in check. He would — even at this moment of 
complete ruin — have given the last shreds of his 
worldly possessions to be able to steady the febrile 
movements of his hand. 

The pack of cards was on the table, just as Endi- 
cott had put it down, after dealing, with the excep- 
tion of the queen of hearts in front of Segrave and 
the lucky king of diamonds on which Lambert was 
still mechanically gaping. 

He was undoubtedly moved by the desire to hide 
the trembling of his hands and the gathering tears 
in his eyes when he began idly to scatter the pack 
upon the table, spreading out the cards, fingering 
them one by one, setting his teeth the while lest that 
181 


182 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


latent cry of misery should force its way across his 
lips. 

Suddenly he paused in this idle fingering of the 
cards. His eyes which already were burning with 
hot tears, seemed to take on an almost savage 
glitter. 

A hoarse cry escaped his parched lips. 

“ In the name of Heaven, Mr. Segrave, what ails 
you? ” cried Endicott with well-feigned concern. 

Segrave’s hand wandered mechanically to his own 
neck; he tugged at the fastening of his lace collar, 
as if, in truth, he were choking. 

“ The king. . . . The king of diamonds,” 

he murmured in a hollow voice. “ Two 
two kings of diamonds. . . .” 

He laughed, a long, harsh laugh, the laugh of a 
maniac, or of a man possessed, whilst one long thin 
finger pointed tremblingly to the card still held by 
Richard Lambert, and then to its counterpart in 
the midst of the scattered pack. 

That laugh seemed to echo all round the room. 
Dames and cavaliers, players and idlers, looked up 
to see whence that weird sound had come. Instinc- 
tively the crowd drew nigh, dice and cards were 
pushed aside. Some strange drama was being en- 
acted between two young men more interesting even 
than the caprices of Fortune. 

But already Endicott and also Sir Marmaduke de 
Chavasse had followed the beckonings of Segrave’s 
feverish hand. 

There could be no mistake in what they saw nor 


DISGRACE 


183 


yet in the ominous consequences which it foretold. 
There was a king of diamonds in the scattered pack 
of cards upon the table, and yet the card which 
Lambert held, in consequence of which he had just 
won two hundred pounds, was also the king of dia- 
monds. 

“ Two kings of diamonds ... by all that’s 
damnable!” quoth Lord Walterton, who had been 
the first to draw nigh. 

“ But in Heaven’s name, what does it all mean P ” 
exclaimed Lambert, gazing at the two cards, hear- 
ing the comments round him, yet utterly unable to 
understand. 

Segrave jumped to his feet. 

“ It means, young man,” he ejaculated in a wild 
state of frenzy, maddened by his losses, his former 
crime, his present ruin, “ it means that you are a 
damned thief.” 

And with frantic, excited gesture he gathered up 
the cards and threw them violently into Richard 
Lambert’s face. 

A curious sound went round the room — a gasp, 
hardly a cry — and all those present held their 
breath, silent, appalled at the terrible tragedy ex- 
pressed by these two young men standing face to 
face on the brink of a deathly and almost blas- 
phemous conflict. 

Mrs. Endicott was the first to utter a cry. 

“ Silence ! silence ! ” she shouted shrilly. “ Mr. 
Segrave, I adjure you to be silent. . . . I’ll 

not permit you to insult my guest.” 


184 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


Already Lambert had made a quick movement to 
throw himself on Segrave. The elemental instinct 
of self-defense, of avenging a terrible insult by 
physical violence rose within him, whispering of 
strength and power, of the freedom, muscle-giving 
life of the country as against the enervating, weak-, 
ening influence of the town. 

He knew that in a hand to hand struggle with 
the feverish, emaciated townsman, he, the country- 
bred lad, the haunter of woods and cliffs, the dweller 
of the Thanet smithy, would be more than a match 
for his opponent. But even as his whole body stiff- 
ened for a spring, his muscles tightened and his 
fists clenched, a dozen restraining hands held him 
back from his purpose, whilst Mrs. Endicott’s shrill 
tones seemed to bring him back to the realities of 
his own peril. 

“ Mistress Endicott,” he said, turning a proud, 
yet imploring look to the lady whose virtues had 
been so loudly proclaimed in his ears, “ Madam, I 
appeal to you ... I implore you to listen 
a frightful insult which you have witnessed 
. . . an awful accusation on which I scarce can 

trust myself to dwell has been hurled at me. 

I entreat you to allow me to challenge these two 
gentlemen to explain.” 

And he pointed both to Segrave and to Endicott, 
The former, after his mad outburst of ungovernable 
rage, had regained a certain measure of calm. He 
stood, facing Lambert, with arms folded across his 


DISGRACE 


185 1 


chest, whilst a smile of insulting 1 irony curled his 
thin lips. 

Endicott’s eyes seemed to be riveted on Lam- 
bert’s breast. 

At mention of his own name, he suddenly darted 
forward, and seemed to be plunging his hand— the, 
hand which almost disappeared within the ample 
folds of the voluminous lace cuff — into the breast 
pocket of the young man’s doublet. 

His movements were so quick, so sure and so un- 
expected that no one — least of all Lambert — could 
possibly guess what was his purpose. 

The next moment — less than a second later — he 
had again withdrawn his hand, but now every one 
could see that he held a few cards in it. These 
he dropped with an exclamation of loathing and 
contempt upon the table, whilst those around, in- 
stinctively drew back a step or two as if fearful of 
coming in contact with something impure and ter- 
rible. 

Endicott’s movements, his quick gestures, well 
aided by the wide lace cuffs which fell over his hand, 
his exclamation of contempt, had all contributed to 
make it seem before the spectators as if he had 
found a few winning cards secreted inside the lining 
of Richard Lambert’s doublet. 

“Nay! young sir,” he said with an evil sneer, 
“ meseems that explanations had best come from 
you. Here,” he added, pointing significantly at the 
■cards which he had just dropped out of his own 


186 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


hand, 44 here is a vastly pleasing collection 

Aces and Kings . . . passing serviceable in a 

quiet game of primero among friends.” 

Lambert had been momentarily dumfounded, for 
undoubtedly he had not perceived Endicott’s treach- 
erous movements, and had absolutely no idea whence 
had come those awful cards which somehow or other 
seemed to be convicting him of lying and cheating: 
so conscious was he of his own innocence, that 
never for a moment did the slightest fear cross his 
mind that he could not immediately make clear his 
own position, and proclaim his own integrity. 

44 This is an infamous plot,” he said calmly, but 
very firmly. 44 Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse,” he 
added, turning to face his employer, who still stood 
motionless and silent in the background, “ in the 
name of Heaven I beg of you to explain to these 
gentlemen that you have known me from boyhood. 
Will you speak?” he added insistently, conscious 
of a strange tightening of his heartstrings as the 
man on whom he relied, remained impassive and 
made no movement to come to his help. 44 Will you 
tell them, I pray you, sir, that you know me to be 
a man of honor, incapable of such villainy as they 
suggest? . . . You know that I did not even 

wish to play . . .” 

44 That reluctance of yours, my good Lambert, 
seems to have been a pretty comedy forsooth,” re- 
plied Sir Marmaduke lightly, 44 and you played to 
some purpose, meseems, when you once began. 
. . . Nay! I pray you,” he added with unmiti- 


DISGRACE 


187 


gated harshness, 44 do not drag me into your quar- 
rels. ... I cannot of a truth champion your 
virtue.” 

Lambert’s cheeks became deathly pale. The first 
inkling of the deadly peril of his own situation had 
suddenly come to him with Sir Marmaduke’s callous 
words. It seemed to him as if the very universe must 
stand still in the face of such treachery. The man 
whom he loved with all the fervor of a grateful na- 
ture, the man who knew him and whom he had 
wholly trusted, was proving his most bitter, most 
damning enemy. 

After Sir Marmaduke’s speech, his own employer’s 
repudiation, he felt that all his chances of clearing 
his character before these sneering gentlemen had 
suddenly vanished. 

44 This is cruel, and infamous,” he protested, con- 
scious innocence within him still striving to fight a 
hard battle against overwhelming odds. 44 Gentle- 
men ! ... as I am a man of honor, I swear 

that I do not know what all this means ! ” 

44 It means, young man, that you are an accursed 
cheat ... a thief ... a liar,” shouted 
Segrave, whose last vestige of self-control suddenly 
vanished, whilst mad frenzy once more held him in 
its grip. 44 I swear by God that you shall pay me 
for this ! ” 

He threw himself with all the strength of a raving 
maniac upon Lambert, who for the moment was 
taken unawares, and yielded to the suddenness of 
the onslaught. But it was indeed a conflict ’twixt 


188 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


town and country, the simple life against nightly 
dissipations, the forests and cliffs of Thanet against 
the enervating atmosphere of the city. 

After that first onrush, Lambert, with marvelous 
agility and quick knowledge of a hand to hand 
fight, had shaken himself free of his opponent’s 
trembling grasp. It was his turn now to have the 
upper hand, and in a trice he had, with a vigorous 
clutch, gripped his opponent by the throat. 

In a sense, his calmness had not forsaken him, his 
mind was as quiet, as clear as heretofore ; it was 
only his muscle — his bodily energy in the face of a 
violent and undeserved attack — which had ceased 
to be under his control. 

“ Man ! man ! ” he murmured, gazing steadily into 
the eyes of his antagonist, “ ye shall swallow those 
words — or by Heaven I will kill you ! ” 

The tumult which ensued drowned everything save 
itself . . . everything, even the sound of that 

slow and measured tramp, tramp, tramp, which was 
wafted up from the street. 

The women shouted, the men swore. Some ran 
like frightened sheep to the distant corners of the 
room, fearful lest they be embroiled in this unpleas- 
ant fracas . . . others crowded round Segrave 

and Lambert, trying to pacify them, to drag the 
strong youth away from his weaker opponent — al- 
most his victim now. 

Some were for forcibly separating them, others 
for allowing them to fight their own battles 
and loud-voiced arguments, subsidiary quarrels 


DISGRACE 


189 


mingled with the shrill cries of terror and caused a 
din which grew in deafening intensity, degenerating 
into a wild orgy as glasses were knocked off the 
tables, cards strewn about, candles sent flying and 
spluttering upon the ground. 

And -still that measured tramp down the street, 
growing louder, more distinct, a muffled 44 Halt ! ” 
the sound of arms, of men moving about beneath 
that yawning archway and along the dark and dis- 
mal passage with its hermetically closed front door. 


CHAPTER XX 


MY LORD PROTECTOR’S PATROL 

ALONE, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had taken 
no part in the confused turmoil which raged 
around the personalities of Segrave and Richard 
Lambert. From the moment that he had — with 
studied callousness — turned his back on his erst- 
while protege he had held aloof from the crowd 
which had congregated around the two young men. 

He saw before him the complete success of his 
nefarious plan, which had originated in the active 
brain of Editha, but had been perfected in his own — 
of heaping dire and lasting disgrace on the man who 
had become troublesome and interfering of late, 
who was a serious danger to his more important 
schemes. 

After the fracas of this night Richard Lambert 
forsooth could never show his face within two hun- 
dred miles of London, the ugly story of his having 
cheated at cards and been publicly branded as a 
liar and a thief by a party of gentlemen would of a 
surety penetrate even within the fastnesses of 
Thanet. 

So far everything was for the best, nay, it might 
be better still, for Segrave enraged and maddened 
at his losses might succeed in getting Lambert im- 
190 


MY LORD PROTECTOR’S PATROL 191 

prisoned for stealing, and cheating, even at the cost 
of his own condemnation to a fine for gambling. 

The Endicotts had done their part well. The 
man especially, with his wide cuffs and his quick 
movements. No one there present could have the 
slightest doubt but that Lambert was guilty. Satis- 
fied, therefore, that all had gone according to his 
own wishes, Sir Marmaduke withdrew from further 
conflict or argument with the unfortunate young 
man, whom he had so deliberately and so hopelessly 
ruined. ffl 

And because he thus kept aloof, his ears were not 
so completely filled with the din, nor his mind so 
wholly engrossed by the hand to hand struggle be- 
tween the two young men, that he did not perceive 
that other sound, which, in spite of barred windows 
and drawn curtains, came up from the street below. 

At first he had only listened carelessly to the 
measured tramp. But the cry of “ Halt ! ” issuing 
from immediately beneath the windows caused his 
cheeks to blanch and his muscles to stiffen with a 
sudden sense of fear. 

He cast a rapid glance all around. Segrave and 
Lambert — both flushed and panting — were forcibly 
held apart. Sir Marmaduke noted with a grim 
smile that the latter was obviously the center of a 
hostile group, whilst Segrave was surrounded by a 
knot of sympathizers who were striving outwardly 
to pacify him, whilst in reality urging him on 
through their unbridled vituperations directed 
against the other man. 


192 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


The noise of arguments, of shrill voices, of ad- 
monitions and violent abuse had in no sense abated. 

Over the sea of excited faces Sir Marmaduke 
caught the wide-open, terrified eyes of Editha de 
Chavasse. 

She too had heard. 

He beckoned to her across the room with a slight 
gesture of the hand, and she obeyed the silent call 
as quickly as she dared, working her way round to 
him, without arousing the attention of the crowd. 

44 Do not lose your head,” he whispered as soon 
as she was near him and seeing the wild terror ex- 
pressed in every line of her face. 44 Slip into the 
next room . . . and leave the door ajar. 

. . . Do this as quietly as may be 

now ... at once . . . then wait there 

until I come.” 

Again she obeyed him silently and swiftly, for 
she knew what that cry of 44 Halt ! ” meant, uttered 
at the door of her house. She had heard it, even 
as Sir Marmaduke had done, and after it the per- 
emptory knocks, the loud call, the word of command, 
followed by the sound of an awed and supplicating 
voice, entering a feeble protest. 

She knew what all that meant, and she was afraid- 

As soon as Sir Marmaduke saw that she had done 
just as he had ordered, he deliberately joined the 
noisy groups which were congregated around Se- 
grave and Lambert. 

He pushed his way forward and anon stood face 
to face with the young man on whom he had just 


MY LORD PROTECTOR’S PATROL 193 

wreaked such an irreparable wrong. Not a thought 
of compunction or remorse rose in his mind as he 
looked down at the handsome flushed face — quite 
calm and set outwardly in spite of the terrible agony 
raging within heart and mind. 

“ Lambert ! ” he said gruffly, “ listen to me. 
. . . Your conduct hath been most unseemly. 

. . . Mistress Endicott has for my sake, already 

shown you much kindness and forbearance . 
had she acted as she had the right to do she would 
have had you kicked out of the house by her serv- 
ants. ... In your own interests now I should 
advise you to follow me quietly out of the 
house. . . .” 

But this suggestion raised a hot protest on the 
part of all the spectators. 

“ He shall not go ! ” declared Segrave violently. 

“ Not without leaving behind him what he has de- 
liberately stolen,” commented Endicott, raising his 
oily voice above the din. 

Lambert had waited patiently, whilst his em- 
ployer spoke. The last remnant of that original 
sense of deference and of gratitude caused him to 
hold himself in check lest he should strike that 
treacherous coward in the face. Sir Marmaduke’s 
callousness in the face of his peril and unmerited 
disgrace, had struck Lambert with an overwhelming 
feeling of disappointment and loneliness. But his 
cruel insults now quashed despair and roused dor- 
mant indignation to fever pitch. One look at Sir 
Marmaduke’s sneering face had told him not only 


194 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


that he could expect no help from the man who — 
by all the laws of honor — should have stood by him 
in his helplessness, but that he was the fount and 
source, the instigator of the terrible wrong and in- 
justice which was about to land an innocent man 
into the veriest abyss of humiliation and irretriev- 
able disgrace. 

“ And so this was your doing, Sir Marmaduke de 
Chavasse,” he said, looking his triumphant enemy 
boldly in the face, even whilst compelling silent at- 
tention from those who were heaping opprobrious 
epithets upon him. “ You enticed me here. 

You persuaded me to play. . . . Then you 
tried to rob me of mine honor, of my good name, 
the only valuable assets which I possess. 

Hell and all its devils alone know why you did this 
thing, but I swear before God that your hideous 
crime shall not remain unpunished. . . .” 

“ Silence ! ” commanded Sir Marmaduke, who was 
the first to perceive the strange, almost supernatural, 
effect produced on all those present, by the young 
man’s earnestness, his impressive calm. Segrave 
himself stood silent and abashed, whilst everyone 
listened, unconsciously awed by that unmistakable 
note of righteousness which somehow rang through 
Lambert’s voice. 

“ Nay! but I’ll not be silent,” quoth Richard un- 
perturbed. “ I have been condemned . . . and 

I have the right to speak. . . . You have dis- 
graced me . . . and I have the right to defend 
mine honor ... by protesting mine innocence. 


MY LORD PROTECTOR’S PATROL 195 


. . . And now I will leave this house,” he added 

loudly and firmly, “ for it is accursed and infamous 
. . . but God is my witness that I leave it with- 
out a stain upon my soul. , . 

He pointed to the fateful table whereon a pile of 
gold lay scattered in an untidy heap, with the tiny 
leather wallet containing his five guineas conspicu- 
ously amongst it. 

“ There lies the money,” he said, speaking di- 
rectly to Segrave, “ take it, sir, for I had never the 
intention to touch a penny of it. This I 

swear by all that I hold most sacred. . . . Take 

it without fear or remorse — even though you thought 
such evil things of me . . . and let him who 

still thinks me a thief, repeat it now to my face — 
and he dare ! ” 

Even as the last of his loudly uttered words re- 
sounded through the room, there was a loud knock 
at the door, and a peremptory voice commanded 

“ Open ! in the name of His Highness, the Lord 
Protector of England ! ” 

In the dead silence that followed, the buzz of a 
fly, the spluttering of wax candles, could be dis- 
tinctly heard. 

In a moment with the sound of that peremptory 
call outside, tumultuous passions seemed to sink to 
rest, every cheek paled, and masculine hands in- 
stinctively sought the handle of a sword, whilst lace 
handkerchiefs were hastily pressed to trembling lips, 
in order to smother the cry of terror which had 
risen to feminine throats. 


196 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


44 Open ! in the name of His Highness, the Lord 
Protector of England.” 

Mistress Endicott was the color of wax, her hus- 
band was gripping her wrist with a clutch of steel, 
trying, through the administration of physical pain, 
to keep alive her presence of mind. 

And for the third time came the loud summons: 

“ Open ! in the name of His Highness the Lord 
Protector of England ! ” 

Still that deathly silence in the room, broken 
only now by the firm step of Endicott, who went to 
open the door. 

Resistance had been worse than useless. The door 
would have yielded at the first blow. There was a 
wailing, smothered cry from a dozen terrified 
throats, and a general rush for the inner room. 

But this door now was bolted and barred, 
Sir Marmaduke — unperceived — had slipped quickly 
within, even whilst everyone held their breath in the 
first moment of paralyzed terror. 

Had there been time, there would doubtless have 
ensued a violent attack against that locked door, 
but already a man in leather doublet and wearing a 
steel cap and collar had peremptorily pushed Endi- 
cott aside, who was making a futile effort to bar the 
way, after he had opened the door. 

This man now advanced into the center of the 
room, whilst a couple of soldierly-looking, stalwart 
fellows remained at attention on the threshold. 

44 Let no one attempt to leave this room,” he 
commanded. 44 Here, Bradden,” he added, turning 


MY LORD PROTECTOR’S PATROL 197 


back to his men, “ take Pyott with you and search 
that second room there . . . then seize all those 

cards and dice and also that money.” 

It was not likely that these hot-headed cavaliers 
would submit thus quietly to an arbitrary act of 
confiscation and of arrest. Hardly were the last 
words out of the man’s mouth than a dozen blades 
flashed out of their scabbard. 

The women screamed, and like so many frightened 
hens, ran into the comer of the room furthest out of 
reach of my Lord Protector’s police-patrol. The 
men immediately forming a bulwark in front of 
them. 

The whole thing was not very heroic perhaps. A 
few idlers caught in an illicit act and under threat 
or arrest. The consequences — of a truth — would 
not be vastly severe for the frequenters of this se- 
cret club ; fines mayhap, which most of those present 
could ill afford to pay, and at worst a night’s de- 
tention in one of those horrible wooden constructions* 
which had lately been erected in the river bank for 
the express purpose of causing sundry lordly of- 
fenders to pass an uncomfortable night. 

These were days of forcible levelings : and my 
lord who had contravened old Noll’s laws against 
swearing and gambling fared not one whit better 
than the tramp who had purloined a leg of mutton 
from an eating house. 

Nay! in a measure my lord fared a good deal 
worse, for he looked upon his own detention through 
the regicide usurper’s orders, as an indignity to him- 


198 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


self ; hence the reason why in this same house wherein 
a few idle scions of noble houses indulged in their 
favorite pastime, when orders rang out in the name 
of His Highness, swords jumped out of their sheaths,, 
and resistance was offered out of all proportion to 
the threat. 

The man who seemed to be the captain of the 
patrol smiled somewhat grimly when he saw himself 
confronted by this phalanx of gentlemanly weapons. 
He was a tall, burly fellow, broad of shoulder and 
well-looking in his uniform of red with yellow fac- 
ings, his round bullet-shaped head, covered by the 
round steel cap, was suggestive of obstinacy even 
of determination. 

He eyed the flushed and excited throng with 
some amusement not wholly unmixed with contempt. 
Oh! he knew some of the faces well enough by sight 
— for he had originally served in the traine-bands 
of London, and had oft seen my Lord Walterton, 
for instance, conspicuous at every entertainment — 
now pronounced illicit by His Highness, and Sir 
Anthony Bridport, a constant frequenter at Exeter 
House, and young Lord Naythmire the son of the 
Judge. He also had certainly seen young Segrave 
before this, whose father had been a member of the 
Long Parliament; the only face that was totally 
strange to him was that of the youngster in the 
dark suit of grogram, who stood somewhat aloof 
from the irate crowd, and seemed to be viewing the 
scene with astonishment rather than with alarm. 

Lord Walterton, flushed with wine, more than with 


MY LORD PROTECTOR’S PATROL 199 


anger, constituted himself the spokesman of the 
party : 

“Who are you?” he asked somewhat unsteadily, 
“ and what do you want ? ” 

“ My name is Gunning,” replied the man curtly, 
Captain commanding His Highness’ police. What 
I want is that you gentlemen offer no resistance, 
but come with me quietly to answer on the morrow 
before Judge Parry, a charge of contravening the 
laws against betting and gambling.” 

A ribald and prolonged laugh greeted this brief 
announcement, and some twenty pairs of gentle- 
manly shoulders were shrugged in token of derision. 

“ Hark at the man ! ” quoth Sir James Overbury 
lightly, “ methinks, gentlemen, that our wisest 
course would be to put up our swords and to throw 
the fellows downstairs, what say you? ” 

“ Aye ! aye ! ” came in cheerful accents from the 
defiant little group. 

“ Out with you fellow, we’ve no time to waste in 
bandying words with ye . . .” said Walterton, 

with the tone of one accustomed to see the churl ever 
cringe before the lord, “ and let one of thy myr- 
midons touch a thing in this room if he dare ! ” 

The young cavalier was standing somewhat in ad- 
vance of his friends, having stepped forward in or- 
der to emphasize the peremptoriness of his words. 
The women were still in the background well pro- 
tected by a phalanx of resolute defenders who, en- 
couraged by the Captain’s silence and Walterton’s 


200 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


haughty attitude, were prepared to force the patrol 
of police to beat a hasty retreat. 

Endicott and his wife had seemed to think it pru- 
dent to keep well out of sight: the former having 
yielded to Gunning’s advance had discreetly retired 
amongst the petticoats. 

No one, least of all Walterton who remained the 
acknowledged leader of the little party of gamesters, 
had any idea of the numerical strength of the patrol 
whose interference with gentlemanly pastimes was un- 
warrantable and passing insolent. In the gloom on 
the landing beyond a knot of men could only be 
vaguely discerned. Captain Gunning and his lieu- 
tenant Bradden had alone advanced into the room. 

But now apparently Gunning gave some sign, 
which Bradden then interpreted to the men outside. 
The sign itself must have been very slight for none 
of the cavaliers perceived it — certainly no actual 
word of command had been spoken, but the next mo- 
ment — within thirty seconds of Walterton’s defiant 
speech, the room itself, the doorway and apparently 
the landing and staircase too, were filled with men, 
each one attired in scarlet and yellow, all wearing 
leather doublets and steel caps, and all armed with 
muketoons which they were even now pointing 
straight at the serried ranks of the surprised and 
wholly unprepared gamesters. 

“ I would fain not give an order to fire,” said 
Captain Gunning curtly, “ and if you, gentlemen, 
will follow me quietly, there need be no bloodshed.” 

It may be somewhat unromantic but it is cer- 


MY LORD PROTECTOR’S PATROL 201 

tainly prudent to listen at times to the dictates of 
commonsense, and one of wisdom’s most cogent 
axioms is undoubtedly that it is useless to stand up 
before a volley of musketry at a range of less than 
twelve feet, unless a heroic death is in contemplation. 

It was certainly very humiliating to be ordered 
about by a close-cropped Puritan, who spoke in 
nasal tones, and whose father probably had mended 
boots or killed pigs in his day, but the persuasion 
of twenty-four musketoons, whose muzzles pointed 
collectively in one direction was bound — in the name 
of commonsense — to prevail ultimately. 

Of a truth, none of these gentlemen — who were 
now content to oppose a comprehensive vocabulary 
of English and French oaths to the brand-new 
weapons of my Lord Protector’s police — were cow- 
ards in any sense of the word. Less than a decade 
ago they had proved their mettle not only sword in 
hand, but in the face of the many privations, sor- 
rows and humiliations consequent on the failure of 
their cause and the defeat and martyrdom of their 
king. There was, therefore, nothing mean or 
pusillanimous in their attitude when having ex- 
hausted their vocabulary of oaths and still seeing 
before them the muzzles of four-and-twenty mus- 
ketoons pointed straight at them, they one after an- 
other dropped their sword points and turned to read 
in each other’s faces an uniform desire to surrender 
to force majeure. 

The Captain watched them — impassive and silent 
— until the moment when he too could discern in the 


202 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


sullen looks cast at him by some twenty pairs of 
eyes that these elegant gentlemen had conquered 
their impulse to hot-headed resistance. 

But the four-and-twenty musketoons were still 
leveled, nor did the round-headed Captain give the 
order to lower the firearms. 

44 I can release most of you, gentlemen, on parole,” 
he said, 44 an you’ll surrender your swords to me, 
you may go home this night, under promise to at- 
tend the Court to-morrow morning.” 

Bradden in the meanwhile had gone to the inner 
door and finding it locked had ordered his com- 
panion to break it open. It yielded to the first blow 
dealt with a vigorous shoulder. The lieutenant went 
into the room, but finding it empty, he returned and 
soon was busy in collecting the various 44 pieces de 
conviction,” which would go to substantiate the 
charges of gambling and betting against these noble 
gentlemen. No resistance now was offered, and after 
a slight moment of hesitation and a brief consulta- 
tion ’twixt the more prominent cavaliers there pres- 
ent, Lord Walterton stepped forward and having 
unbuckled his sword, threw it with no small measure 
of arrogance and disdain at the feet of Captain 
Gunning. 

His example was followed by all his friends. Gun- 
ning with arms folded across his chest, watching 
the proceeding in silence. When Endicott stood 
before him, however, he said curtly: 

44 Not you, I think. Meseems I know you too 
well, fine sir, to release you on parole. Bradden,” 


MY LORD PROTECTOR’S PATROL 203 


he added, turning to his lieutenant, “ have this 
man duly guarded and conveyed to Queen’s Head 
Alley to-night.” 

Then as Endicott tried to protest, and Gunning 
gave a sharp order for his immediate removal, Se- 
grave pushed his way forward; he wore no sword, 
and like Lambert, had stood aloof throughout this 
brief scene of turbulent yet futile resistance, sullen, 
silent, and burning with a desire for revenge against 
the man who had turned the current of his luck, 
and brought him back to that abyss of despair, 
whence he now knew there could be no release. 

“Captain,” he said firmly, “though I wear no 
sword I am at one with all these gentlemen, and I 
accept my release on parole. To-morrow I will 
answer for my offense of playing cards, which ap- 
parently, is an illicit pastime. I am one of the 
pigeons who have been plucked in this house.” 

“ By that gentleman ? ” queried Gunning with a 
grim smile and nodding over his shoulder in the di- 
rection where Endicott was being led away by a 
couple of armed men. 

“No! not by him!” replied Segrave boldly. 

With a somewhat theatrical gesture he pointed 
to Lambert, who more of a spectator than a partici- 
pant in the scene, had been standing mutely by out- 
side the defiant group, absorbed in his own misery, 
wondering what effect the present unforeseen junc- 
ture would have on his future chances of rehabili- 
tating himself. 


204* NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


He was also vaguely wondering what had be- 
come of Sir Marmaduke and Mrs. de Chavasse. 

But now Segrave’s voice was raised, and once 
more Lambert found himself the cynosure of a num- 
ber of hostile glances. 

“ There stands the man who has robbed us all,” 
said Segrave wildly, “ and now he has heaped dis- 
grace upon us, upon me and mine. . . . Curse 

him ! . . . curse him I say ! ” he continued 
whilst all the pent up fury, forcibly kept in check 
all this while by the advent of the police, now once 
more found vent in loud vituperation and almost 
maniacal expressions of rage. “ Liar 
cheat ! . . . Look at him, Captain ! there stands 

the man who must bear the full brunt of the punish- 
ment for he is the decoy, he is the thief. 

The pillory for him . . . the pillory 

the lash . . . the brand. . . . Curse him. 

Curse him . . . the thief. . . .” 

He was surrounded and forcibly silenced. The 
foam had risen to his lips, impotent fury and 
agonized despair had momentarily clouded his brain. 
Lambert tried to speak, but the Captain unwilling 
to prolong a conflict over which he was powerless 
to arbitrate, gave a sign to Bradden and anon the 
two young men were led away in the wake of Endi- 
cott. 

The others on giving their word that they would 
appear before the Court on the morrow, and answer 
to the charge preferred against them, were pres- 


MY LORD PROTECTOR'S PATROL 205 


ently allowed to walk out of the room in single file 
between a double row of soldiers whose musketoons 
were still unpleasantly conspicuous. 

Thus they passed out one by one, across the pas- 
sage and down the dark staircase. The door below 
they found was also guarded, as well as the passage 
and the archway giving on the street. 

Here they were permitted to collect or disperse 
at will. The ladies, however, had not been allowed 
to participate in the order for release. Gunning 
knew most of them by sight, they were worthy neither 
of consideration nor respect, paid satellites of Mrs. 
Endicott’s employed to keep up the good spirits of 
that lady’s clientele. 

The soldiers drove them all together before them, 
in a compact, shrinking and screaming group. 
Then the word of command was given. The sol- 
diers stood at attention, turned and finally marched 
out of the room with their prisoners, Gunning be- 
ing the last to leave. 

He locked the door behind him and in the wake 
of his men presently wended his way down the 
tortuous staircase. 

Once more the measured tramp was heard rever- 
berating through the house, the cry of “ Atten- 
tion ! ” of “ Quick March ! ” echoed beneath the 
passage and the tumble-down archway, and anon 
the last of these ominous sounds died away down 
the dismal street in the direction of the river. 

And in one of the attics at the top of the now 


206 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


silent and lonely house in Bath Street — lately the 
scene of so much gayety and joy, of such turmoil of 
passions and intensity of despair — two figures, a 
man and a woman, crouched together in a dark 
corner, listening for the last dying echo of that 
measured tramp. 




f 

, .. ..... trv . 




PART III 


CHAPTER XXI 

IN THE MEANWHILE 

fin HE news of the police raid on a secret gambling 
club in London, together with the fracas which 
it entailed, had of necessity reached even as far as 
sea-grit Thanet. Squire Boatfield had been the 
first to hear of it ; he spread the news as fast as he 
could, for he was over fond of gossip, and Dame 
Harrison over at St. Lawrence had lent him able 
assistance. 

Sir Marmaduke had, of course, the fullest details 
concerning the affair, for he himself owned to having 
been present in the very house where the disturbance 
had occurred. H was not averse to his neighbors 
knowing that he was a frequenter of those exclusive 
and smart gambling clubs, which were avowedly 
the resort of the most elegant cavaliers of the day, 
and his account of some of the events of that memo- 
rable night had been as entertaining as it was highly 
colored. 

He avowed, however, that disgusted at Richard 
Lambert’s shameful conduct, he had quitted the 
place early, some little while before my Lord Pro- 
tector’s police had made a descent upon the gam- 
207 


208 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


biers. As for Mrs. de Chavasse, her name was never 
mentioned in connection with the affair. She had 
been in London at the time certainly, staying with 
a friend, who was helping her in the choice of a new 
gown for the coming autumn. 

She returned to Acol Court with her brother-in- 
law, apparently as horrified as he was at the dis- 
grace which she vowed Richard Lambert had heaped 
upon them all. 

The story of the young man being caught in the 
very act of cheating at cards lost nothing in the 
telling. He had been convicted before Judge Parry 
of obtaining money by lying and other illicit means, 
had been condemned to fine and imprisonment and 
as he refused to pay the former — most obstinately 
declaring that he was penniless — he was made to 
stand for two hours in the pillory, and was finally 
dragged through the streets in a rickety cart in 
full sight of a jeering crowd, sitting with his back 
to the nag in company of the public hangman, and 
attired in shameful and humiliating clothes. 

What happened to him after undergoing this 
wonderfully lenient sentence — for many there were 
who thought he should have been publicly whipped 
and branded as a cheat — nobody knew or cared. 

They kept him in prison for over ten weeks, it 
seems, but Sir Marmaduke did not know what had 
become of him since then. 

The other gentlemen got off fairly lightly with 
fines and brief periods of imprisonment. Young 
Segrave, so ’twas said, had been shipped to New 


IN THE MEANWHILE 


209 


England by his father, but Mr. and Mrs. Endicott 
had gone beyond the seas at the expense of the 
State, and not for their own pleasure or advance- 
ment. It appears that my Lord Protector’s vigi- 
lance patrol had kept a very sharp eye on these two 
people, who had more than once had to answer for 
illicit acts before the Courts. They tried in a most 
shameful manner it appears to implicate Sir Mar- 
maduke and Mrs. de Chavasse in their disgrace, but 
as the former very pertinently remarked, 44 How 
could he, a simple Kentish Squire have aught to do 
with a smart London club? and people of such evil 
repute as the Endicotts could of a truth never be 
believed.” 

All these rumors and accounts had, of course, also 
reached Sue’s ears. At first she took up an attitude 
of aggressive incredulity when her former friend was 
accused : nothing but the plain facts as set forth 
in the Public Advertiser of August the 5th would 
convince her that Richard Lambert could be so base 
and mean as Sir Marmaduke had averred. 

Even then, in her innermost heart, a vague and 
undefinable instinct called out to her in Lambert’s 
name, not to believe all that was said of him. She 
could not think of him as lying, and cheating at a 
game of cards, when commonsense itself told her, 
that he was not sufficiently conversant with its rules, 
to turn them to his own advantage. Her hot-headed 
partisanship of him gave way of necessity as the 
weeks sped by to a more passive disapproval of his 
condemnation, and this in its turn to a kindly char- 


210 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


ity for what she thought must have been his ig- 
norance rather than his sin. 

What worried her most was that he was not nigh 
her, now that her sentimental romance was reaching 
its super-acute crisis. During her guardian’s tem- 
porary absence from Acol she had made earnest and 
resolute efforts to see her mysterious lover. She 
thought that he must know that Sir Marmaduke and 
Mrs. de Chavasse were away and that she herself 
was free momentarily from watchful eyes. 

Yet though with pathetic persistence she haunted 
the park and the woodlands around the Court, she 
never even once caught sight of the broad-brimmed 
hat, and drooping plume of her romantic prince. It 
seemed as if the earth had swallowed him up. 

Upset and vaguely terrified, she had on one oc- 
casion thrown prudence to the winds and sought 
out the old Quakeress and Adam Lambert with 
whom he lodged. But the old Quakeress was very 
deaf, and explanations with her were laborious and 
unsatisfactory, whilst Adam seemed to entertain a 
sullen and irresponsible dislike for the foreigner. 

All she gathered from these two was that there 
was nothing unusual in this sudden disappearance 
of their lodger. He came and went most erratically, 
went no one knew whither, returned at most unex- 
pected moments, never slept more than an hour or 
two in his bed which he quitted at amazingly early 
hours, strolling out of the cottage when all decent 
folk were just beginning their night’s rest, and 


IN THE MEANWHILE 211 

wandering off unseen, unheard only to return as he 
had gone. 

He paid his money for his room regularly, how- 
ever, and this was vastly acceptable these hard 
times. 

But to Sue it was passing strange that her prince 
should be out of her reach, just when Sir Marma- 
duke’s and Mrs. de Chavasse’s absence had made 
their meetings more easy and pleasant. 

Yet with it all, she was equally conscious of an 
unaccountable feeling of relief, and every evening, 
when at about eight o’clock she returned homewards 
after having vainly awaited the prince, there was 
nothing of the sadness and disappointment in her 
heart which a maiden should feel when she has failed 
to see her lover. 

She was just as much in love with him as ever! 
— oh! of that she felt quite sure! she still thrilled 
at thought of his heroic martyrdom for the cause 
which he had at heart, she still was conscious of a 
wonderful feeling of elation when she was with him, 
and of pride when she saw this remarkable hero, this 
selfless patriot at her feet, and heard his impassioned 
declarations of love, even when these were alloyed 
with frantic outbursts of jealousy. She still yearned 
for him when she did not see him, even though she 
dreaded his ill-humor when he was nigh. 

She had promised to be his wife, soon and in 
secret, for he had vowed that she did not love him 
if she condemned him to three long months of in- 
finite torture of jealousy and suspense. 


212 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


This promise she had given him freely and whole- 
heartedly more than a fortnight ago. Since that 
memorable evening when she had thus plighted her 
troth to him, when she had without a shadow of 
fear or a tremor of compunction entrusted her en- 
tire future, her heart and soul to his keeping, since 
then she had not seen him. 

Sir Marmaduke had gone to London, also Mrs. 
de Chavasse, and she had not even caught sight of 
the weird silhouette of her French prince. Lambert, 
too, had gone, put out of her way temporarily — or 
mayhap forever — through the irresistible force of a 
terrible disgrace. There was no one to spy on her 
movements, no one to dog her footsteps yet she had 
not seen him. 

When her guardian returned, he seemed so en- 
grossed with Lambert’s misdeeds that he gave little 
thought to his ward. He and Mrs. de Chavasse 
were closeted together for hours in the small with- 
drawing-room, whilst she was left to roam about the 
house and grounds unchallenged. 

Then at last one evening — it was late August 
then — when despair had begun to grip her heart, 
and she herself had become the prey of vague fears, 
of terrors for his welfare, his life mayhap on which 
he had oft told her that the vengeful King of France 
had set a price — one evening he came to greet her 
walking through the woods, treading the soft carpet 
of moss with a light elastic step. 

Oh ! that had been a rapturous evening ! one which 
she oft strove to recall now that sadness had once 


IN THE MEANWHILE 


213 


more overwhelmed her. He had been all tenderness, 
all love, all passion ! He vowed that he adored her 
as an idolater would worship his divinity. Jealous? 
oh, yes! madly, insanely jealous! for she was fair 
above all women and sweet and pure and tempting 
to all men like some ripe and juicy fruit ready to 
fall into a yearning hand. 

But his jealousy took on a note of melancholy and 
of humility. He worshiped her so and wished to 
feel her all his own. She listened entranced, for- 
getting her terrors, her disappointments, the vague 
ennui which had assailed her of late. She yielded 
herself to the delights of his caresses, to the joy 
of this hour of solitude and rapture. The night was 
close and stormy ; from afar muffled peals of thunder 
echoed through the gigantic elms, whilst vivid flashes 
of lightning weirdly lit up at times the mysterious 
figure of this romantic lover, with his face forever 
in shadow, one eye forever hidden behind a black 
band, his voice forever muffled. 

But it was a tempestuous wooing, a renewal of 
that happy evening in the spring — oh! so long ago 
it seemed now! — when first he had poured in her ear 
the wild torrents of his love. The girl — so young, 
so inexperienced, so romantic — was literally swept 
off her feet : she listened to his wild words, yielded her 
lips to his kiss, and whilst she half feared the im- 
petuosity of his mood, she delighted in the very 
terrors it evoked. 

A secret marriage? Why, of course! since he suf- 
fered so terribly through not feeling her all his 


214 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


own. Soon ! — at once ! — at Dover before the clergy- 
man at All Souls with whom he — her prince had al- 
ready spoken. 

Yes ! it would have to be at Dover, for the neigh- 
boring villages might prove too dangerous. Sir 
Marmaduke might hear of it mayhap. It would 
rest with her to free herself for one day. 

Then came that delicious period of scheming, of 
stage-managing everything for the all-important 
day. He would arrange about a chaise, and she 
should walk up to the Canterbury Road to meet 
it. He would await her in the church at Dover, 
for ’twas best that they should not be seen together 
until after the happy knot was tied, when he de- 
clared that he would be ready to defy the universe. 

It had been a long interview, despite the tempest 
that raged above and round them. The great 
branches of the elms groaned and cracked under 
fury of the wind, the thunder pealed overhead and 
then died away with slow majesty out towards the 
sea. From afar could be heard the angry billows 
dashing themselves against the cliffs. 

They had to seek shelter under the colonnaded 
porch of the summer house, and Sue had much ado 
to keep the heavy drops of rain from reaching her 
shoes and the bottom of her kirtle. 

But she was attune with the storm, she loved to 
hear the weird sh-sh-sh of the leaves, the monoto- 
nous drip of the rain on the roof of the summer 
house, and in the intervals of intense blackness to 
catch sight of her lover’s face, pale of hue, with 


IN THE MEANWHILE 


215 


one large eye glancing cyclops-like into hers, as a 
vivid flash of lightning momentarily tore the dark- 
ness asunder and revealed him still crouching at her 
feet. 

Intense lassitude followed the wild mental turmoil 
of that night. She had arranged to meet him again 
two days hence in order to repeat to him what she had 
heard the while of Sir Marmaduke’s movements, and 
when she was like to be free to go to Dover. During 
those intervening two days she tried hard to probe 
her own thoughts ; her mind, her feelings : but what 
she found buried in the innermost recesses of her 
heart frightened her so, that she gave up thinking. 

She lay awake most of the night, telling herself 
how much she loved her prince; she spent half a 
day in the perusal of a strange book called The 
Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet by one William 
Shakespeare who had lived not so long ago: and 
found herself pondering as to whether her own sen- 
timents with regard to her prince were akin to those 
so exquisitely expressed by those two young people 
who had died because they loved one another so 
dearly. 

Then she heard that towards the end of the week 
Sir Marmaduke and Mrs. de Chavasse would be 
journeying together to Canterbury in order to con- 
fer with Master Skyflmgton the lawyer anent her 
own fortune, which was to be handed to her in its 
entirety in less than three months, when she would 
be of age. 


CHAPTER XXII 


BREAKING THE NEWS 

S IR MARMADUKE talked openly of this plan 
of going to Canterbury with Editha de Cha- 
vasse, mentioning the following Friday as the most 
likely date for his voyage. 

Full of joy .she brought the welcome news to her 
lover that same evening: nor had she cause to re- 
gret then her ready acquiescence to his wishes. He 
was full of tenderness then, of gentle discretion in 
his caresses, showing the utmost respect to his fu- 
ture princess. He talked less of his passion and 
more of his plans, in which now she would have her 
full share. He confided some of his schemes to her: 
they were somewhat vague and not easy to under- 
standing, but the manner in which he put them be- 
fore her, made them seem wonderfully noble and 
selfless. 

In a measure this evening — so calm and peaceful 
in contrast to the turbulence of the other night — 
marked one of the great crises in the history of her 
love. Even when she heard that Fate itself was con- 
spiring to help on the clandestine marriage by 
causing Sir Marmaduke and Mrs. de Chavasse to 
absent themselves at a most opportune moment, she 
had resolved to break the news to her lover of her 
own immense wealth. 


216 


BREAKING THE NEWS 


217 


Of this he was still in total ignorance. One or 
two innocent remarks which he had let fall at dif- 
ferent times convinced her of that. Nor was this 
ignorance of his to be wondered at : he saw no one 
in or about the village except the old Quakeress and 
Adam Lambert with whom he lodged. The woman 
was deaf and uncommunicative, whilst there seeemed 
to be some sort of tacit enmity against the foreigner 
latent in the mind of the blacksmith. It was, there- 
fore, quite natural that he should suppose her no» 
whit less poor than Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse or 
the other neighboring Kentish Squires whoe impe- 
cuniousness was too blatent a fact to be unknown 
even to a stranger in the land. 

Sue, therefore, was eagerly looking forward to 
the happy moment when she would explain to her 
prince that her share in the wonderful enterprise 
which he always vaguely spoke of as his 46 great 
work ” would not merely be one of impassiveness. 
Where he could give the benefit of his personality, 
his eloquence, his knowledge of men and things, she 
could add the weight of her wealth. 

Of course she was very, very young, but already 
from him she had realized that it is impossible even to 
regenerate mankind and give it political and re- 
ligious freedom without the help of money. 

Prince Amede d’Orleans himself was passing rich: 
the fact that he chose to hide in a lonely English 
village and to live as a poor man would live, was 
only a part of his schemes. For the moment, too, 
owing to that ever present vengefulness of the 


218 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


King of France, his estates and revenues were under 
sequestration. All this Sue understood full well, and 
it added quite considerably to her joy to think that 
soon she could relieve the patriot and hero from 
penury, and that the news that she could do so 
would be a glad surprise for him. 

Nor must Lady Sue Aldmarshe on this account 
be condemned for an ignorant or a vain fool. Though 
she was close on twenty-one years of age, she had 
had absolutely no experience of the world or of 
mankind : all she knew of either had been conceived 
in the imaginings of her own romantic brain. 

Her entire childhood, her youth and maidenhood 
had gone by in silent and fanciful dreamings, whilst 
one of the greatest conflicts the world had ever 
known was raging between men of the same kith 
and the same blood. The education of women — even 
of those of rank and wealth — was avowedly on a 
very simple standard. Most of the noble ladies of 
that time knew not how to spell — most of them were 
content to let the world go by them, without giving 
it thought or care, others had accomplished prodigies 
of valor, of heroism, aye! and of determination to 
help their brothers, husbands, fathers during the 
worst periods of the civil war. 

But Sue had been too young when these same 
prodigies were being accomplished, and her father 
died before she had reached the age when she could 
take an active part in the great questions of the day. 
A mother she had never known, she had no brothers 
and sisters. A brief time under the care of an old 


BREAKING THE NEWS 


219 


aunt and a duenna in a remote Surrey village, and 
her stay at Pegwell Court under Sir Marmaduke’s 
guardianship was all that she had ever seen of life. 

Prince Amede d’Orleans was the embodiment of 
all her dreams — or nearly so ! The real hero of 
her dreams had been more handsome, and also more 
gentle and trusting, but on the whole he had not 
been one whit more romantic in his personality and 
his doings. 

The manner in which she received the news that 
unbeknown to him he had been wooing one of the 
richest brides in the land, was characteristic of 
him. He seemed boundlessly disappointed. 

It was a' beautiful clear night and she could see 
his face quite distinctly, and could note how its 
former happy expression was marred suddenly by 
a look of sorrow. He owned to being disappointed. 
He had loved the idea, so he explained, of taking 
her to him, just as she was, beautiful beyond com- 
pare, but penniless — having only her exquisite self 
to give. 

Oh! the joy after that of coaxing him back to 
smiles ! the pride of proving herself his Egeria for 
the nonce, teaching him how to look upon wealth 
merely as a means for attaining his great ends, for 
continuing his great work. 

It had been perhaps the happiest evening in her 
-short life of love. 

For that day at Dover now only seemed a dream. 
The hurried tramp to the main road in a torrent of 
pouring rain : the long drive in the stuffy chaise, the 


220 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


arrival just in time for the brief — very brief cere- 
mony in the dark church, with the clergyman in a 
plain black gown muttering unintelligible wtords, 
and the local verger and the church cleaner acting 
as the witnesses to her marriage. 

Her marriage ! 

How differently had she conceived that great, 
that wonderful day, the turning point of a maiden’s 
life. Music, flowers, beautiful gowns and sweet 
scents filling the air! the sunlight peeping gold, red, 
purple or blue through the glass windows of some 
exquisite cathedral ! The bridegroom arrayed in 
white, full of joy and pride, she the bride with a 
veil of filmy lace falling over her face to hide the 
happy blushes! 

It was a beautiful dream, and the reality was so 
very, very different. 

A dark little country church, with the plaster 
peeling off the walls ! the drone of a be-whiskered, 
bald-headed parson being the sole music which greeted 
her ears. The rain beating against the broken win- 
dow-panes, through which icy cold draughts of damp 
air reached her shoulders and caused her to shiver 
beneath her kerchief. She wore her pretty dove- 
colored gown, but it was not now nor had she a veil 
over her face, only a straw hat such as country- 
women wore, for though she was an heiress and 
passing rich, her guardian did but ill provide her 
with smart clothing. 

And the bridegroom? 

He had been waiting for her inside the church, 


BREAKING THE NEWS 


221 

and seemed impatient when she arrived. No one 
had helped her to alight from the rickety chaise, and 
she had to run in the pouring rain, through the 
miserable and deserted churchyard. 

His face seemed to scowl as she finally stood up 
beside him, in front of that black-gowned man, who 
was to tie between them the sacred and irrevocable 
knot of matrimony. His hand had perceptibly, 
trembled when he slipped the ring on her finger, 
whilst she felt that her own was irresponsive and icy 
cold. 

She tried to speak the fateful “ I will ! ” buoy- 
antly and firmly, but somehow — owing to the cold, 
mayhap — the two little words almost died down in 
her throat. 

Aye! it had all been very gloomy, and inexpress- 
ibly sad. The ceremony — the dear, sweet, sacred 
ceremony which was to give her wholly to him, him 
unreservedly to her — was mumbled and hurried 
through in less than ten minutes. 

Her bridegroom said not a word. Together they 
went into the tiny vestry and she was told to sign 
her name in a big book, which the bald-headed par- 
son held open before her. 

The prince also signed his name, and then kissed 
her on the forehead. 

The clergyman also shook hands and it was all 
over. 

She understood that she had been married by a 
special license, and that she was now legally and 
irretrievably the wife of Amede Henri prince d’Or- 


222 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

leans, de Bourgogne and several other places and 
dependencies abroad. 

She also understood from what the bald-headed 
clergyman had spoken when he stood before them 
in the church and read the marriage service that 
she as the wife owed obedience to her husband in 
all things, for she had solemnly sworn so to do. 
She herself, body and soul and mind, her goods and 
chattels, her wealth and all belongings were from 
henceforth the property of her husband. 

Yes, she had sworn to all that, willingly, and 
there was no going back on that, now or ever! 

But, oh! how she wished it had been different! 

Afterwards, when in the privacy of her own little 
room at Acol Court, she thought over the whole 
of that long and dismal day, she oft found herself 
wondering what it was through it all that had seemed 
so terrifying to her, so strange, so unreal. 

Something had struck her as weird: something 
which she could not then define; but she was quite 
•sure that it was not merely the unusual chilliness 
of that rainy summer’s day, which had caused her 
to tremble so, when — in the vestry — her husband 
had taken her hand and kissed her. 

She had then looked into his face, which — though 
the vestry was but ill lighted by a tiny very dusty 
window — she had never seen quite so clearly before, 
and then it was that that amazing sense of some- 
thing awful and unreal had descended upon her 
like a clammy shroud. 

He had very swiftly averted his own gaze from 


BREAKING THE NEWS 


223 


her, but she had seen something in his face which 
she did not understand, over which she had pon- 
dered ever since without coming to any solution of 
this terrible riddle. 

She had pondered over it during that interminable 
journey back from Dover to Acol. Her husband 
had not even suggested accompanying her on her 
homeward way, nor did she ask him to do so. She 
did not even think it strange that he gave her no 
explanation of the reason why he should not return 
to his lodgings at Acol. She felt like a somnam- 
bulist, and wondered how soon she would wake and 
find herself in her small and uncomfortable bed at 
the Court. 

The next day that feeling of unreality was still 
there; that sensation of mystery of something su- 
pernatural which persistently haunted her. 

One thing was quite sure; that all joy had gone 
out of her life. It was possible that love was still 
there — she did not know — she was too young to un- 
derstand the complex sensations which suddenly had 
made a woman of her . . . but it was a joy- 

less love now: and all that she knew of a certainty 
about her own feelings at the present was that she 
hoped she would never have to gaze into her lover’s 
face again . . . and . . . Heaven help 
her! . . . that he might never touch her again 
with his lips. 

Obedient to his behests — hurriedly spoken as she 
stepped into the chaise at Dover after the marriage 
ceremony — she had wandered out every evening be- 


224 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


yond the ha-ha into the park, on the chance of meet- 
ing him. 

The evenings now were soft and balmy after the 
rain : the air carried a pungent smell of dahlias 
and of oak-leaved geraniums to her nostrils, which 
helped her to throw off that miserable feeling of 
mental lassitude which had weighed her down ever 
since that fateful day at Dover. She walked 
slowly along, treading the young tendrils of the 
moss, watching with wistful eyes the fleecy clouds, 
as they appeared through the branches of the elms, 
scurrying swiftly out towards the sea . . . out 
towards freedom. 

But evening after evening passed away, and she 
saw no sign of him. She felt the futility, the hu- 
miliating uselessness of these nightly peregrinations 
in search of a man who seemed to have a hundred 
more desirable occupations than that of meeting his 
wife. But she had not the power to drift out to- 
wards freedom now. She obeyed mechanically be- 
cause she must. She had sworn to obey and he had 
bidden her come and wait for him. 

August yielded to September, the oak-leaved ge- 
raniums withered whilst from tangled bosquets the 
melancholy eyes of the Michaelmas daisies peeped 
out questioningly upon the coming autumn. 

Then one evening his voice suddenly sounded close 
to her ear, causing her to utter a quickly smothered 
cry. It had been the one dull day throughout this 
past glorious month, the night was dark and a warm 
drizzle had soaked through to her shoulders and 


BREAKING THE NEWS 225 

wetted the bottom of her kirtle so that it hung 
heavy and dank round her ankles. He had come 
to her as usual from out the gloom, just as she was 
about to cross the little bridge which spanned the 
sunk fence. 

She realized then, with one of those sudden quiv- 
ers of her sensibilities, to which, alas ! she had be- 
come so accustomed of late, that he had always ' 
met her thus in the gloom — always chosen nights 
when she could scarce see him distinctly, and this 
recollection still further enhanced that eerie feeling 
of terror which had assailed her since that fateful 
moment in the vestry. 

But she tried to be natural and even gay with 
him, though at the first words of tender reproach 
with which she gently chided him for his prolonged 
absence, he broke into one of those passionate ac- 
cesses of fury which had always frightened her, but 
now left her strangely cold and unresponsive. 

Was the subtle change in him as well as in her? 
She could not say. Certain it is that, though his 
hands had sought hers in the darkness, and pressed 
them vehemently, when first they met, he had not 
attempted to kiss her. 

For this she was immeasurably grateful. 

He was obviously constrained, and so was she, 
and when she opposed a cold silence to his outburst 
of passion, he immediately, and seemingly without 
any effort changed his tone and talked more rea- 
sonably, even glibly of his work, which he said was 
awaiting him now in France. 


226 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

Everything was ready there, he explained, for 
the great political propaganda which he had planned 
and which could be commenced immediately. 

All that was needed now was the money. In what 
manner it would be needed and for what definite pur- 
pose he did not condescend to explain, nor did she 
care to ask. But she told him that she would be 
sole mistress of her fortune on the 2d of November, 
the date of her twenty-first birthday. 

After that he spoke no more of money, but prom- 
ised to meet her at regular intervals during the six 
weeks which would intervene until the great day 
when she would be free to proclaim her marriage and 
place herself unreservedly in the hands of her hus- 
band. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE ABSENT FRIEND 

rTl HE prince kept his word, and she was fairly 
free to see him at least once a week, somewhere 
within the leafy thicknesses of the park or in the 
woods, usually at the hour when dusk finally yields 
to the overwhelming embrace of night. 

Sir Marmaduke was away. In London or Can- 
terbury, she could not say, but she had scarcely 
seen him since that terrible time, when he came back 
from town having left Richard Lambert languishing 
in disgrace and in prison. 

Oh ! how she missed the silent and thoughtful 
friend who in those days of pride and of joy had 
angered her so, because he seemed to stand for 
conscience and for prudence, when she only thought 
of happiness and of love. 

There was an almost humiliating isolation round 
her now. Nobody seemed to care whither she went, 
nor when she came home. Mrs. de Chavasse talked 
from time to time about Sue’s infatuation for the 
mysterious foreign adventurer, but always as if this 
were a thing of the past, and from which Sue her- 
self had long since recovered. 

Thus there was no one to say her nay, when she 
went out into the garden after evening repast, and 
227 


228 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


stayed there until the shades of night had long 
since wrapped the old trees in gloom. 

And strangely enough this sense of freedom struck 
her with a chill sense of loneliness. She would have 
loved to have suddenly caught sight of Lambert’s 
watchful figure, and to have heard his somewhat 
harsh voice, warning her against the foreigner. 

This had been wont to irritate her a twelve weeks 
ago ! How mysteriously everything had altered 
round her. 

And yearning for her friend, she wondered what 
had become of him. The last she had heard was 
toward the middle of October when Sir Marmaduke, 
home from one of his frequent journeyings, one day 
said that Lambert had been released after ten weeks 
spent in prison, but that he could not say whither 
he had gone since then. 

All Sue’s questionings anent the young man only 
brought forth violent vituperations from Sir Mar- 
maduke, and cold words of condemnation from Mrs. 
de Chavasse : therefore, she soon desisted, storing 
up in her heart pathetic memories of the one true 
friend she had in the world. 

She saw without much excitement, and certainly 
without tremor the rapid advance of that date early 
in November when she would perforce have to leave 
Acol Court in order to follow her husband whither- 
soever he chose to command her. 

The last twice that they had met, there had been 
a good deal of talk between them, about her for- 
tune and its future disposal. He declared himself 


THE ABSENT FRIEND 


229 

ready to administer it all himself, as he professed a 
distrust of those who had watched over it so far — 
Master Skyffington, the lawyer, and Sir Marma- 
duke de Chavasse, both under the control of the 
Court of Chancery. 

She explained to him that the bulk of her wealth 
consisted of obligations and shares in the Levant 
and Russian Companies, her mother having been 
the only daughter and heiress of Peter Ford the 
great Levantine and Oriental merchant ; her mar- 
riage with the proud Earl of Dover having caused 
no small measure of comment in Court circles in 
those days. 

There were also deeds of property owned in Hol- 
land, grants of monopolies for trading given by 
Ivan the Terrible to her grandfather, and receipts 
for moneys deposited in the great banks of Amster- 
dam and Vienna. Master Skyffington had charge of 
all those papers now: they represented nearly five 
hundred thousand pounds of money and she told her 
husband that they would all be placed in her own 
keeping, the day she was of age. 

He appeared to lend an inattentive ear to all 
these explanations, which she gave in those timid 
tones, which had lately become habitual to her, but 
once — when she made a slip, and talked about a 
share which she possessed in the Russian Company 
being worth £50,000, he corrected her and said it 
was a good deal more, and gave her some explana- 
tions as to the real distribution of her capital, 


230 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


which astonished her by their lucidity and left her 
vaguely wondering how it happened that he knew. 

She had finally to promise to come to him at the 
Cottage in Acol on the 2d of November — her 21st 
birthday — directly after her interview with the law- 
yer and with her guardian, and having obtained 
possession of all the share papers, the obligations, 
the grants of monopolies and the receipts from the 
Amsterdam and Vienna banks, to forthwith bring 
them over to the Cottage and place them unre- 
servedly in her husband’s hands. 

And she would in her simplicity and ignorance 
gladly have given every scrap of paper — now in 
Master Skyffington’s charge — in exchange for a re- 
turn of those happy illusions which had surrounded 
the early history of her love with a halo of romance. 
She would have given this mysterious prince, now her 
husband, all the money that he wanted for this won- 
derful “ great work ” of his, if he would but give her 
back some of that enthusiastic belief in him which 
had so mysteriously been killed within her, that 
fateful moment in the vestry at Dover. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


NOVEMBER THE 2d 


DREARY day, with a leaden sky overhead and 



the monotonous patter of incessant rain 
against the window panes. 

Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had just come down- 
stairs, and opening the door which leads from the 
hall to the small withdrawing-room on the right, he 
saw Mrs. de Chavasse, half-sitting, half-crouching 
in one of the stiff-backed chairs, which she had drawn 
close to the fire. 

There was a cheerful blaze in the hearth, and the 
room itself — being small — always looked cosier than 
any other at Acol Court. 

Nevertheless Editha’s face was pallid and drawn 
and she stared into the fire with eyes which seemed 
aglow with anxiety and even with fear. Her cloak 
was tied loosely round her shoulders, and at sight 
of Sir Marmaduke she started, then rising hur- 
riedly, she put her hood over her head, and went 
towards the door. 


“ Ah ! my dear Editha ! ” quoth her brother-in- 
law, lightly greeting her, “ up betimes like the lark 
I see. . . . Are you going without? ” he added 

as she made a rapid movement to brush past him 
and once more made for the door. 

“Yes!” she replied dully, “I must fain move 


231 


232 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


about . . . tire myself out if I can 

I am consumed with anxiety.” 

“ Indeed ? ” he retorted blandly, “ why should you 
be anxious P Everything is going splendidly 
and to-night at the latest a fortune of 
nigh on £500,000 will be placed in my hands by a 
fond and adoring woman.” 

He caught the glitter in her eyes, that sugges- 
tion of power and of unspoken threats which she 
had adopted since the episode in the Bath Street 
house. For an instant an ugly frown further dis- 
figured his sour face: but this frown was only mo- 
mentary, it soon gave way to a suave smile. He 
took her hand and lightly touched it with his lips. 

“ After which, my dear Editha,” he said, I 
shall be able to fulfill those obligations, which my 
heart ; originally dictated.” 

She seemed satisfied at this assurance, for she now 
spoke in less aggressive tones : 

“ Are you so sure of the girl, Marmaduke? ” she 
asked. ; 

“ Absolutely,” he replied, his thoughts reverting 
to a day spent at Dover nearly three months ago, 
when a knot was tied of which fair Editha was not 
aware, , but which rendered Sir Marmaduke Chavasse 
very sure of a fortune. 

“ Yet you have oft told me that Sue’s love for 
her mysterious prince had vastly cooled , of late!” 
urged Editha still anxiously. 

“ Why yes ! forsooth ! ” he retorted grimly, “ Sue’s 


NOVEMBER THE 2ND 


233 


sentimental fancy for the romantic exile hath gone 
the way of all such unreasoning attachments ; but 
she has ventured too far to draw back. 

And she will not draw back,” he concluded signifi- 
cantly. 

44 Have a care, Marmaduke ! . . . the girl is 
more willful than ye wot of. . . . You may 
strain at a cord until snap.” 

44 Pshaw ! ” she said, with a shrug of his wide shoul- 
ders, 44 you are suffering from vapors, my deaV 
Editha ... or you would grant me more 
knowledge of how to conduct mine own affairs. 
. . . Do you remember, perchance, that the bulk 

of Sue’s fortune will be handed over to her this 
day? ” 

44 Aye ! I remember ! ” 

44 Begad, then to-night I’ll have that bulk out of 
her hands. You may take an oath on that ! ” he 
declared savagely. 

“And afterwards ? ” she , asked simply. 

44 Afterwards ? ” 

44 Yes . . . afterwards? . . . when Sue 
has discovered how she has been tricked? . . . 

Are you not afraid of what she might do? 

Even though her money may pass into your hands 
even though you may inveigle her into a 
clandestine marriage . . . she is still the 
daughter of the late Earl of Dover . . . she 

has landed estates, wealth, rich and powerful rela- 
tions. . . . There must be an 4 afterwards,’ re- 
member ! . , 


234 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


His ironical laugh grated on her nerves, as he 
replied lightly: 

“ Pshaw ! my dear Editha ! of a truth you are not 
your own calm self to-day, else you had understood 
that forsooth! in the love affairs of Prince Amede 
d’Orleans and Lady Susannah Aldmarshe there must 
and can be no 4 afterwards.’ ” 

“ 1 don’t understand you.” 

“ Yet, ’tis simple enough. Sue is my wife.” 

“ Your wife . . .” she exclaimed. 

“ Hush ! An you want to scream, I pray you 
question me not, for what I say is bound to startle 
you. Sue is my wife. I married her, having ob- 
tained a special license to do so in the name of 
Prince Amede Henri d’Orleans, and all the rest of 
the romantic paraphernalia. She is my wife, and 
therefore her money and fortune are mine, every 
penny of it, without question or demur.” 

“ She will appeal to the : Court to have the mar- 
riage annulled . . . she’ll rouse public indig- 

nation against you to such a pitch that you’ll not 
be able to look one of your kith ; and kin in the 
face. . . . The whole shameful story of the 
mysterious French prince . . . your tricks to 

win the hand of your ward by lying, cheating and 
willful deceit will resound from one end of the coun- 
try to the other. . . . What is the use of a 
mint of money if you have to herd with outcasts, 
and not an honest man will shake you by the hand? ” 

“ None, my dear Editha, none,” he replied 
quietly, “ and ’tis of still less use for you to rack 


NOVEMBER THE 2ND 


235 


jour nerves in order to place before me a gruesome 
picture of the miserable social pariah which I should 
become, if the story of my impersonation of a ro- 
mantic exile for the purpose of capturing the hand 
of my ward came to the ears of those in authority.” 

“ Whither it doubtless would come ! ” she affirmed 
hotly. 

“ Whither it doubtless would come,” he assented, 
“ and therefore, my dear Editha, once the money 
is safely in my hands I will leave her Royal High- 
ness the Princesse d’Orleans in full possession not 
only of her landed estates but of the freedom con- 
ferred on her by widowhood, for Prince Amede, her 
husband, will vanish like the beautiful dream which 
he always was.” 

44 But how? . . . how? ” she reiterated, puz- 

zled, anxious, scenting some nefarious scheme more 
unavowable even than the last. 

44 Ah ! time will show ! But he will van- 

ish, my dear Editha, take my word on it. Shall we 
say that he will fly up into the clouds and her High- 
ness the Princess will know him no more? ” 

44 Then why have married her? ” she exclaimed: 
some womanly instinct within her crying out against 
this outrage. 44 ’Twas cruel and unnecessary.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

44 Cruel perhaps ! But surely more than 

necessary. I doubt if she would have entrusted her 
fortune to anyone but her husband.” 

44 Had she ceased to trust her romantic prince 
then? ” 


23 6 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


“ Perhaps. At any rate, I chose to make sure of 
the prize. ... I have worked hard to get it 
and would not fail for lack of a simple 
ceremony . . . moreover . . 

66 Moreover? ” 

“ Moreover, my dear Editha, there is always the 
possibility . . . remote, no doubt . . . but 

nevertheless tangible . . . that at some time 

or other . . . soon or late — who knows? — the 

little deception practiced on Lady Sue may come to 
the light of day. ... In that case, even if the 
marriage be annulled on the ground of fraud . . . 
which methinks is more than doubtful ... no 
one could deny my right as the heiress’ 
hem . . . shall we say? — temporary husband — 

to dispose of her wealth as I thought fit. If I am 
to become a pariah and an outcast, as you so elo- 
quently suggested just now ... I much pre- 
fer being a rich one. . . . With half a million 

in the pocket of my doublet the whole world is open 
to me.” 

There was so much cool calculation, such callous 
contempt for the feelings and thoughts of the un- 
fortunate girl whom he had so terribly wronged, in 
this expose of the situation, that Mrs. de Chavasse. 
herself was conscious of a sense of repulsion from 
the man whom she had aided hitherto. 

She believed that she held him sufficiently in her 
power, through her knowledge of his schemes and 
through the help which she was rendering him to 
extract a promise from him that he would share his. 


NOVEMBER THE 2ND 


237 

ill-gotten spoils in equal portions with . her. At one 
time after the fracas in Bath Street, he had even 
given her a vague promise of marriage ; therefore 
he had kept secret from her the relation of that day 
spent at Dover. Now she felt that even if she were 
free, she would never consent to link her future irre- 
trievably with his. , 

But her share of the money she meant to have. 
She was tired of poverty, tired of planning and 
scheming, of debt and humiliation. She was tired of 
her life of dependence at Acol Court, and felt a suf- 
ficiency of youth and buoyancy in herself yet, to en- 
joy a final decade of luxury and amusement in Lon- 
don. 

Therefore she closed her ears to every call of con- 
science, she shut her heart against the lonely young 
girl who so sadly needed the counsels and protection 
of a good woman, and she was quite ready to lend a 
helping hand to Sir Marmaduke, at least until a 
goodly share of Lady Sue’s fortune was safely 
within her grasp. 

One point occurred to her now, which caused her 
to ask anxiously: 

“ Have you not made your reckonings without 
Richard Lambert, Marmaduke? He is back in these 
parts, you know?” 

“Ah!” he ejaculated, with a quick scowl of im- 
patience. “ He has returned? ” 

“ Yes ! Charity was my informant. He looks 
very ill, so the wench says: he has been down with 
fever, it appears, all the while that he was in prison, 


238 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


and was only discharged because they feared that 
he would die. He contrived to work or beg his way 
back here, and now he is staying in .the village. 

I thought you would have heard.” 

“ No ! I never speak to the old woman . . 

and Adam Lambert avoids me as he would the 
plague. ... I see as little of them as I can. 

. . I had to be prudent these last, final days.” 

“ Heaven grant he may do nothing fatal to- 
day ! ” she murmured. 

“Nay! my dear Editha,” he retorted with a harsh 
laugh, “ His scarcely heaven’s business to look after 
our schemes. But Lambert can do us very little 
harm now! For his own sake, he will keep out of 
Sue’s way.” 

“At what hour does Master Skyffington arrive?” 

“ In half an hour.” 

Then as he saw that she was putting into effect 
her former resolve of going out, despite the rain, 
and was once more readjusting her hood for that 
purpose, he opened the door for her, and whispered 
as he followed her out: 

“ An you will allow me, my dear Editha, I’ll 
accompany you on your walk ... we might 
push on down the Canterbury Road, and perchance 
meet Master Skyffington. ... I understand 
that Sue has been asking for me, and I would pre- 
fer to meet her as seldom as possible just now. 
. . . This is my last day,” he concluded with a 

laugh, “ and I must be doubly careful.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


AN INTERLUDE 

'IV T ASTER HYMN OF PRAISE BUSY was 
-*■ vastly perturbed. Try how he might, he had 
been unable to make any discovery with regard to the 
mysterious events, which he felt sure were occurring 
all round him, a discovery which — had he but made 
it — would have enabled him to apply with more 
chance of success, for one of the posts in my Lord 
Protector’s secret service, and moreover would have 
covered his name with glory. 

This last contingency was always uppermost in 
his mind. Not from any. feeling of personal pride, 
for of a truth vanity is a mortal sin, but because 
Mistress Charity had of late cast uncommonly kind 
eyes on that cringing worm, Master Courage Too- 
good, and the latter, emboldened by the minx’s fa- 
vors, had been more than usually insolent to his 
betters. ■ 

To have the right to administer serious physical 
punishment to the youth, and moral reproof to the 
wench, was part of Master .Busy’s comprehensive 
scheme for his own advancement and the confusion 
of all the miscreants who dwelt in Acol Court. For 
this he had glued both eye and ear to draughty key- 
holes, had lain for hours under cover of prickly 
thistles in the sunk fence which surrounded the 


239 


MO NEST OP THE SPARROWHAWK 


flower garden. For this he now emerged, on that 
morning of November £, accompanied by a terrific 
clatter and a volley of soot from out the depth of 
the monumental chimney in the hall of Acol Court'. 

As soon as he had recovered sufficient breath, and 
shaken off some of the soot from his hair and face,' 
he looked solemnly about him, and was confronted 
by two pairs of eyes round with astonishment and 
two mouths agape with surprise and with fear. 

Mistress Charity and Master Courage Toogood — 
interrupted in the midst of their animated f conver- 
sation — were now speechless with terror, at sight of 
this black apparition, which, literally, had descended 
on them from the skies. 

“Lud love ye, Master Busy,” ejaculated Mistress 
Charity, who was the first to recognize in the sooty 
wraith the manly form of her betrothed, “ where 
have ye come from, pray ? ” 

“ Have you been scouring the chimney, good mas- 
ter? ” queried Master Courage, with some diffidence, 
for the saintly man looked somewhat out of humor. 

“ No ! ” replied Hymn of Praise solemnly, “ I 
have not. But I tell ye both that my hour hath 
come. I knew that something was happening in 
this house, and I climbed up that chimney in order 
to find out what it was.” 

Pardonable curiosity caused Mistress Charity to 
venture a little nearer to the soot-covered figure of 
her adorer. 

“And did you hear anything, Master Busy?” 
she asked eagerly. 66 1 did see Sir Marmaduke and 


AN INTERLUDE 


241 


the mistress in close conversation here this morn- 
ing.” 

“ So they thought,” said Master Hymn of Praise 
with weird significance. 

“Well? . . . And what happened, good 

master? ” 

“ Thou beest in too mighty an hurry, mistress,” 
he retorted with quiet dignity. “ I am under no 
obligation to report matters to thee.” 

“ Oh! but Master Busy,” she rejoined coyly, “me- 
thought I was to be your . . . hem . . . 

thy partner in life . . . and so . . .” 

“ My partner? My partner, didst thou say, 
sweet Charity? . . . Nay, then, an thou’lt per- 

mit me to salute thee with a kiss, I’ll tell thee all 
I know.” 

And in asking for that chaste salute we may 
assume that Master Hymn of Praise was actuated 
with at least an equal desire to please Mistress 
Charity, to gratify his own wishes, and to effec- 
tually annoy Master Courage. 

But Mistress Charity was actuated by curiosity 
alone, and without thought of her betrothed’s grimy 
appearance, she presented her cheek to him for the 
kiss. 

The result caused Master Courage an uncon- 
trollable fit of hilarity. 

“ Oh, mistress,” he said, pointing to the black 
imprint left on her face by her lover’s kiss, “ you 
should gaze into a mirror now.” 

But already Mistress Charity had guessed what 


242 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


had occurred, her good humor vanished, and she 
began .scouring her cheek with her pinner. 

46 I’ll never forgive you, master,” she said crossly. 
“You had no right to . . . hem . . . with 
your face in that condition. . . . And you have 

not yet told us what happened.” 

44 What happened? ” 

44 Aye ! you promised to tell me if I allowed you 
to kiss me. ’Tis done . . .” 

44 1 well nigh broke my back,” said Master Busy 
sententiously. 44 1 hurt my knee . . . that is 
what happened. ... I am well nigh choked 
with soot. . . . Ugh! . . . that is what 

happened.” 

44 Lud love you, Master Busy,” she retorted with 
a saucy toss of her head, 44 I trust your life’s part- 
ner will not need to hide herself in chimneys.” 

44 Listen, wench, and I’ll tell thee. No kind of 
servant of my Lord Protector’s should ever be called 
upon to hide in chimneys. They are not comfort- 
able and they are not clean.” 

44 Bless the man ! ” she cried angrily, 44 are you 
ever going to tell us what did happen whilst you 
were there ? ” 

44 1 was about to come to that point,” he said 
imperturbably, 44 hadst thou not interrupted me. 
What with holding on so as not to fall, and the 
soot falling in my ears . . .” 

44 Aye ! aye ! . . .” 

44 1 heard nothing,” he concluded solemnly. 
44 Master Courage,” he added with becoming sever- 


AN INTERLUDE 


US 

ity, seeing that the .youth was on the verge of 
making a ribald remark, which of necessity had to 
be checked betimes, “ come into my room with me 
and help me to clean the traces of my difficult task 
from off my person. Come ! ” 

And with ominous significance, he approached the 
young scoffer, his hand on an exact level with the 
latter’s ear, his right foot raised to indicate a pos- 
sible means of enforcing obedience to his commands. 

On the whole, Master Courage thought it wise to 
repress both his hilarity and his pertinent remarks, 
and to follow the pompous if begrimed butler to 
the latter’s room upstairs. 


r 


•i 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE OUTCAST 

I T took Mistress Charity some little time to re- 
cover her breath. 

She had thrown herself into a chair, with her 
pinner over her face, in an uncontrollable fit of 
laughter. 

When this outburst of hilarity had subsided, she 
sat up, and looked round her with eyes still stream- 
ing with merry tears. 

But the laughter suddenly died on her lips and 
the merriment out of her eyes. A dull, tired voice 
had just said feebly: 

“Is Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse within?” 
Charity jumped up from the chair and stared 
stupidly at the speaker. 

“ The Lord love you, Master Richard Lambert,” 
she murmured. “ I thought you were your ghost.” 

“ Forgive me, mistress, if I have frightened you,” 
he said. “ It is mine own self, I give you assurance 
of that, and I. fain would have speech with Sir Mar- 
maduke.” 

Mistress Charity was visibly embarrassed. She 
began mechanically to rub the black stain on her 
cheek. 

“ Sir Marmaduke is without just at present, 


THE OUTCAST 245 

Master Lambert,” she stammered shyly, “. . . 

and . . .” 

“Yes? . . . and? . . .” he asked, “what 

is it, wench? . . . speak out? . . ” % 

“ Sir Marmaduke gave orders, Master Lambert,” 
she began with obvious reluctance, “ that . . .” 

She paused, and he concluded the sentence for 
her: 

“ That I was not to be allowed inside his house. 
. . . Was that it? ” 

“ Alas ! yes, good master.” 

“ Never mind, girl,” he rejoined as he deliberately 
crossed the hall and sat down in the chair which she 
had just vacated. “ You have done your duty: but 
you could not help admitting me, could you? since 
I walked in of mine own accord . . . and now 

that I am here I will remain until I have seen Sir 
Marmaduke. . . .” 

“Well! of a truth, good master,” she said with 
a smile, for ’twas but natural that her feminine sym- 
pathies should be on the side of a young and good- 
looking man, somewhat in her own sphere of life, as 
against the ill-humored, parsimonious master whom 
she served, “ an you sit there so determinedly, I 
cannot prevent you, can I? . . .” 

Then as she perceived the look of misery on the 
young man’s face, his pale cheeks, his otherwise vig- 
orous frame obviously attenuated by fear, the moth- 
erly instinct present in every good woman’s heart 
caused her to go up to him and to address him tim- 


246 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

idly, offering such humble solace as her simple heart 
could dictate: 

“ Lud preserve you, good master, I pray you do 
not take on so. You know Master Courage 

and I, now, never believed all those stories about ye. 
Of a truth Master Busy, he had his own views, but 
then . . . you see, good master, he and I do 

not always agree, even though I own that he is 
vastly clever with his discoveries and his clues : but 
Master Courage now . . . Master Courage is a 

wonderful lad . . . and he thinks that you are 

a persecuted hero ! . . . and I am bound to say 

that I, too, hold that view. . . .” 

“ Thank you ! . . . thank you, kind mis- 

tress,” said Lambert, smiling despite his dejection, 
at the girl’s impulsive efforts at consolation. 

His head had sunk down on his breast, and he sat 
there in the high-backed chair, one hand resting on 
each leather-covered arm, his pale face showing al- 
most ghostlike against the dark background, and 
with the faint November light illumining the dark- 
circled eyes, the bloodless lips, and deeply frowning 
brow. 

Mistress Charity gazed down on him with mute 
and kindly compassion. 

Then suddenly a slight rustling noise as of a 
kirtle sweeping the polished oak of the stairs caused 
the girl to look up, then to pause a brief while, as 
if what she had now seen had brought forth a new 
train of thought; finally, she tiptoed silently out 
through the door of the dining hall. 


THE OUTCAST 


247 


“ Charity ! Mistress Charity, I want you ! . . .” 
called Lady Sue from above. 

We must presume, however, that the wench had 
closed the heavy door behind her, for certainly she 
did not come in answer to the call. On the other 
hand, Richard Lambert had heard it ; he sprang to 
his feet and saw Sue descending the stairs. 

She saw him, too, and it seemed as if at sight of 
him she had turned and meant to fly. But a word 
from him detained her. 

44 Sue!” 

He had never called her by her name before, of 
course. Yet now the cry came from out his heart, 
brought forth by his misery and his sorrow, his sense 
of terrible injustice and of an irretrievable wrong. 

44 It never occurred to her to resent the familiar- 
ity. At sound of her name thus spoken by him she 
had looked down from the stairs and seen his pallid 
face turned up to her in such heartrending appeal 
for sympathy, that all her womanly instincts of ten- 
derness and pity were aroused, all her old feeling of 
trustful friendship for him. 

She, too, felt much of that loneliness which his 
yearning eyes expressed so pathetically ; she, too, 
was conscious of grave injustice and of an irre- 
trievable wrong, and her heart went out to him im- 
mediately in kindness and in love. 

44 Don’t go, for pity’s sake,” he added entreat- 
ingly, for he thought that she meant to turn away 
from him ; 44 surely you will not begrudge me a few 


248 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


words of kindness. I have gone through a great 
deal since I have seen you. . . 

She descended a few steps, her delicate hand still 
resting on the banisters, her silken kirtle making a 
soft swishing noise against the polished oak of the 
stairs. It was a solace to him, even to watch her 
now. The sight of his adored mistress was balm to 
his aching eyes. Yet he was quick to note — with 
that sharp intuition peculiar to Love — that her dear 
face had lost much of its brightness, of its youth, 
of its joy of living. She was as exquisite to look 
on as ever, but she seemed older, more gentle, and 
alas ! a trifle sad. 

“ I heard you had been ill,” she said softly ; “ I 
was very sorry, believe me, but . . . Oh ! do you 

not think,” she added with sudden unexplainable 
pathos, whilst she felt hot tears rising to her eyes 
and causing her voice to quiver, “ do you not think 
that an interview between us now can only be pain- 
ful to us both.” 

He mistook the intention of her words, as was 
only natural, and whilst she mistrusted her own 
feelings for him, fearing to betray that yearning 
for his friendship and his consolation, which had so 
suddenly overwhelmed her at sight of him, he 
thought that she feared the interview because of her 
condemnation of him. 

“ Then you believed me guilty? ” he said sadly. 
“ They told you this hideous tale of me, and you 
believed them, without giving the absent one, who 


THE OUTCAST 249 

alas ! could not speak in his own defense, the benefit 
of the doubt.” 

For one of those subtle reasons of which women 
alone possess the secret, and which will forever re- 
main unexplainable to the more logical sex, she 
steeled her heart against him, even when her entire 
sensibilities went out to him in passionate sympathy* 

“ I could not help but believe, good master,” she 
said a little coldly. “ Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, 
who, with all his faults of temper, is a man of honor, 
confirmed that horrible story which appeared in the 
newspaper and of which everyone in Thanet hath 
been talking these weeks past.” 

“And am I not a man of honor?” he retorted 
hotly. “ Because I am poor and must work in order 
to live, am I to be condemned unheard? Is a whole 
life’s record of self-education and honest labor to be 
thus obliterated by the word of my most bitter 
enemy? ” 

“Your bitter enemy? . . .” she asked. “Sir 

Marmaduke? ...” £ 

“ Aye ! Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse. It seems 
passing strange, does it not? ” he rejoined bitterly. 

“ Yet somehow in my heart, I feel that Sir Mar- 
maduke hates me, with a violent and passionate ha- 
tred. Nay! I know it, though I can explain neither 
its cause nor its ultimate aim. . . .” 

He drew nearer to the stairs whereon she still 
stood, her graceful figure slightly leaning towards 
him; he now stood close to. her, his head just below 


250 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


the level of her own, his hand, had he dared to raise 
it, could have rested on hers. 

44 Sue ! my beautiful and worshiped lady,” he 
cried impassionedly, 44 I entreat you to look into my 
eyes . . . can you see in them the reflex of 

those shameful deeds which have been imputed to me ? 
Do I look like a liar and a cheat? In the name of 
pity and of justice, for the sweet sake of our first 
days of friendship, I beg of you not to condemn me 
unheard.” 

He lowered his head, and rested his aching brow 
against her cool, white hand. She did not withdraw 
it, for a great joy had suddenly filled her heart, 
mingling with its sadness, a sense of security and of 
bitter, yet real, happiness pervaded her whole being : 
a happiness which she could not — wished not — to 
explain, but which prompted her to stoop yet fur- 
ther towards him, and to touch his hair with her 
lips. 

Hot tears which he tried vainly to repress fell 
upon her fingers. He had felt the kiss descending 
on him almost like a benediction. The exquisite 
fragrance of her person filled his soul with a great 
delight which was almost pain. Never had he loved 
her so ardently, so passionately, as at this moment, 
when he felt that she too loved him, and yet was 
lost to him irrevocably. 

44 Nay! but I will hear you, good master,” she 
murmured with infinite gentleness, 44 for the sake of 
that friendship, and because now that I have seen 
you again I no longer believe any evil of you.” 


THE OUTCAST 


251 


“ God bless my dear lady,” he replied fervently. 
“ Heaven is my witness that I am innocent of those 
abominable crimes, imputed to me. Sir Marmaduke 
took me to that house of evil, and a cruel plot was 
there concocted to make me appear before all men 
as a liar and a cheat, and to disgrace me before 
the world and before you. That the object of this 
plot was to part me from you,” added Richard Lam- 
bert more calmly and firmly, “ I am absolutely con- 
fident ; what its deeper motive was I dare not even 
think. It was known that I . . . loved you, 
Sue . . . that I would give my life to save you 

from trouble ... I was your slave, your watch- 
dog. ... I was forcibly removed, torn from 
you, my name disgraced, my health broken down. 
. . . But my life was not for them . . . it 

belongs to my lady alone. . . . Heaven would 

not allow it to be sacrificed to their villainous 
schemes. I fought against sickness and death with 
all the energy of despair. ... It was a hand- 
to-hand fight, for discouragement and anon despair 
ranged themselves among my foes. . . . And 

now I have come back,” he said with proud energy, 
“ broken mayhap, yet still standing ... a 
snapped oak yet full of vigor, yet ... I have 
come back, and with God’s help will be even with 
them yet.” 

He had straightened his young figure, and his 
strong, somewhat harsh voice echoed through the 
oak-paneled hall. He cared not if all the world 
heard him, if his enemies lurked about striving to' 


252 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


spy upon him. His profession of Love and of serv- 
ice to his lady was the sole remaining pride of his 
life, and now that he knew that she believed and 
trusted him, he longed for every man to hear what 
he had to say. 

“Nay! what you say, kind Richard, fills me with 
dread,” said Sue after a little pause. “ I am glad 
. . . glad that you have come back. 

For some weeks, nay, months past, I have had the 
presentiment of some coming evil. ... I have 
. . . I have felt lonely and . . 

“ Not unhappy? ” he asked with his usual earnest- 
ness. “ I would not have my lady unhappy for all 
the treasures of this world.” 

“ No ! ” she replied meditatively, striving to be 
conscious of her own feelings, “ I do not think that 
I am unhappy . . . only anxious . . . and 

a little lonely : that is all. . . . Sir 

Marmaduke is oft away: when he is at home, I 
scarce ever see him, and he but rarely speaks to me 
. . . and methinks there is but scant sympathy 

’twixt Mrs. de Chavasse and me, though she is kind 
at times in her way.” 

Then she turned her eyes, bright with unshed 
tears, down again to him. 

“ But all seems right again ! ” she said with a 
sweet, sad smile, “ now that you have come back, 
my dear . . . dear friend ! ” 

“ God bless you for these words ! ” 

“ I grieved terribly when I heard . . . about 

you ... at first . . she said almost 


THE OUTCAST 253 

gaylj now, “ yet somehow I could not believe it all 
. . . and now . . 

“Yes? . . . and now?” he asked. 

“Now I believe in you,” she replied simply. “ I 
believe that you care for me, and that you are my 
friend.” 

“ Your friend indeed, for I would give my life for 
you.” 

Once more he stooped, but now he kissed her hand. 
He was her friend, and had the right to do this. 
He had gradually mastered his emotion, his sense 
of wrong, and with that exquisite selflessness which 
real Love alone can kindle in a human heart, he had 
succeeded in putting aside all thought of his own 
great misery, his helplessness and the hopelessness of 
his position, and remembered only that she looked 
fragile, a little older, sadder, and had need of his 
help. 

“ And now, sweet lady,” he said, forcing himself 
to speak calmly of that which always set his heart 
and senses into a turmoil of passionate jealousy, 
“ will vou tell me something about him.” 

“ Him?” 

“ The Prince . . .” he suggested. 

But she shook her head resolutely. 

“ No, kind Richard,” she said gently, “ I will not 
speak to you of the prince. I know that you do 
not think well of him. ... I wish to look upon 
you as my friend, and I could not do that if you 
spoke ill of him, because . . .” 

She paused, for what she now had to tell him 


254 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


was very hard to say, and she knew what a terrible 
blow she would be dealing to his heart, from the 
wild beating of her own. 

“Yes?” he asked. “Because? . . .” 

“ Because he is my husband,” she whispered. 

Her head fell forward on her breast. She would 
not trust herself to look at him now, for she knew 
that the sight of his grief was more than she could 
bear. She was conscious that at her words he had 
drawn his hand away from hers, but he spoke no 
word, nor did the faintest exclamation escape his 
lips. 

Thus they remained for a few moments longer 
side by side: she slightly above him, with head bent, 
with hot tears falling slowly from her downcast 
eyes, her heart well-nigh breaking with the con- 
sciousness of the Irreparable; he somewhat below, 
silent too, and rigid, all passion, all emotion, Love 
even numbe momentarily by the violence, the sud- 
denness of this terrible blow. 

Then without a word, without a sigh or look, he 
turned, and she heard his footsteps echoing across 
the hall, then dying away on the threshold of the 
door beyond. Anon the door itself closed to with 
a dull bang which seemed to find an echo in her 
heart like the tolling of a passing bell. 

Then only did she raise her head, and looked 
about her. The hall was deserted and seemed infi- 
nitely lonely, silent, and grim. The young girl- 
wife, who had just found a friend only to lose him 
again, called out in mute appeal to this old house, 


'THE OUTCAST 255 

the oak-covered walls, the very stones themselves, 
for sympathy. 

She was so infinitely, .so immeasurably lonely, 
with that awful, irretrievable day at Dover behind 
her, with all its dreariness, its silent solemnity, its 
weird finish in the vestry, the ring upon her finger, 
her troth plighted to a man whom she feared and 
no longer loved. 

Oh! the pity of it all! the broken young life! the 
vanished dreams ! 

Sue bent her head down upon her hands, her lips 
touched her own fingers there where her friend’s had 
rested in gratitude and love, and she cried, cried 
like a broken-hearted woman cried for her lost illu- 
sions, and the end of her brief romance! 


CHAPTER XXVII 


LADY SUE’S FORTUNE 

L ESS than an hour later four people were as- 
sembled in the small withdrawing room of Acol 
Court. 

Master Skyffington sat behind a central table, a 
little pompous of manner, clad in sober black with 
well-starched linen cuffs and collars, his scanty hair 
closely cropped, his thin hands fingering with assur- 
ance and perfect calm the various documents laid out 
before him. Near him Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, 
sitting with his back to the dim November light, 
which vainly strove to penetrate through the tiny 
glass panes of the casement windows. 

In a more remote comer of the room sat Editha 
de Chavasse, vainly trying to conceal the agitation 
which her trembling hands, her quivering face and 
restless eyes persistently betrayed. And beside the 
central table, near Master Skyffington and facing 
Sir Marmaduke, was Lady Susannah Aldmarshe, 
only daughter and heiress of the late Earl of Dover, 
this day aged twenty-one years, and about to re- 
ceive from the hands of her legal guardians the vast 
fortune which her father had bequeathed to her, and 
which was to become absolutely hers this day to dis- 
pose of as she list. 

“ And now, my dear child,” said Master Skyffing- 
ton with due solemnity, when he had disposed a 
256 


LADY SUE’S FORTUNE 


257 


number of documents and papers in methodical or- 
der upon the table, “ let me briefly explain to you 
the ob j ect . . . hem ... of this momen- 

tous meeting here to-day.” 

“ I am all attention, master,” said Sue vaguely, 
and her eyes wide-open, obviously absent, she gazed 
fixedly on the silhouette of Sir Marmaduke, grimly 
outlined against the grayish window-panes. 

“ I must tell you, my dear child,” resumed Mas- 
ter Skyffington after a slight pause, during which 
he had studied with vague puzzledom the inscrutable 
face of the young girl, “ I must tell you that your 
late father, the noble Earl of Dover, had married the 
heiress of Peter Ford, the wealthiest merchant this 
country hath ever known. She was your own la- 
mented mother, and the whole of her fortune, pass- 
ing through her husband’s hands, hath now de- 
volved upon you. My much esteemed patron — I 
may venture to say friend — Sir Marmaduke de 
Chavasse, having been appointed your legal guard- 
ian by the Court of Chancery, and I myself being 
thereupon named the depository of your securities, 
these have been administered by me up to now. 
. . . You are listening to me, are you not, my 
dear young lady ? ” 

The question was indeed necessary, for even to 
Master Skyffington’s unobservant mind it was ap- 
parent that Sue’s eyes had a look of aloofness in 
them, of detachment from her surroundings, which 
was altogether unexplainable to the worthy attor- 
ney’s practical sense of the due fitness of things. 


258 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


At his query she made a sudden effort to bring 
her thoughts back from the past to the present, to 
drag her heart and her aching brain away from 
that half hour spent in the hall, from that conver- 
sation with her friend, from the recollection of that 
terribly cruel blow which she had been forced to deal 
to the man who loved her best in all the world. 

“ Yes, yes, kind master,” she said, “ I am listen- 
ing.” 

And she fixed her eyes resolutely on the attor- 
ney’s solemn face, forcing her mind to grasp what 
he was about to say. 

“ By the terms of your noble father’s will,” con- 
tinued Master Skyffington, as soon as he had satis- 
fied himself that he at last held the heiress’ atten- 
tion, “ the securities, receipts and all other moneys 
are to be given over absolutely and unconditionally 
into your own hands on your twenty-first birthday.” 

“ Which is to-day,” said Sue simply. 

“ Which is to-day,” assented the lawyer. “ The 
securities, receipts and other bonds, grants of mo- 
nopolies and so forth lie before you on this table. 
. . . They represent in value over half a million 

of English money. ... A very large sum in- 
deed for so young a girl to have full control of. 
. . . Nevertheless, it is yours absolutely and un- 

conditionally, according to the wishes of your late 
noble father . . . and Sir Marmaduke de Cha- 

vasse, your late guardian, and I myself, have met 
you here this day for the express purpose of hand- 
ing over these securities, grants and receipts over 


LADY SUE’S FORTUNE 


259 


to you, and to obtain in exchange your own prop- 
erly attested signature in full discharge of any fur- 
ther obligation on our part.” 

Master Skyffington was earnestly gazing into the 
young girl’s face, whilst he thus literally dangled 
before her the golden treasures of wealth, which 
were about to become absolutely her own. He 
thought not unnaturally that a girl of her tender 
years, brought up in the loneliness and seclusion of 
a not too luxurious home, would feel in a measure 
dazzled and certainly overjoyed at the brilliant 
prospect which such independent and enormous 
wealth opened out before her. 

But the amiable attorney was vastly disappointed 
to see neither pleasure, nor even interest, expressed 
in Lady Sue’s face, which on this joyous and mo- 
mentous occasion looked unnaturally calm and pal- 
lid. Even now when he paused expectant and 
eager, waiting for some comment or exclamation of 
approval or joy from her, she was silent for a 
while, and then said in a stolidly inquiring tone: 

“ Then after to-day ... I shall have full 
control of my money P ” 

“ Absolute control, my dear young lady,” he re- 
joned, feeling strangely perturbed at this absence 
of emotion. 

“ And no one . . . after to-day . . . 
will have the right to inquire as to the use I make 
of these securities, grants or whatever you, Master 
Skyffington, have called them?” she continued with 
the same placidity. 


£60 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


“No one, of a surety, my dear Sue,” here inter- 
posed Sir Marmaduke, speaking in his usual harsh 
and dictatorial way, “ but this a strange and some- 
what peremptory question for a young maid to put 
at this juncture. Master Skyffington and I myself 
had hoped that you would listen to counsels of pru- 
dence, and would allow him, who hath already ad- 
ministered your fortune in a vastly able manner, to 
continue so to do, for a while at any rate.” 

“ That question we can discuss later on, Sir Mar- 
maduke,” said Sue now with sudden hauteur. 
“ Shall we proceed with our business, master? ” she 
added, turning deliberately to the lawyer, ignoring 
with calm disdain the very presence of her late 
guardian. 

The studied contempt of his ward’s manner, how- 
ever, seemed not to disturb the serenity of Sir Mar- 
maduke to any appreciable extent. Casting a quick, 
inquisitorial glance at Sue, he shrugged his shoul- 
ders in token of indifference and said no more. 

“ Certainly, certainly,” responded Master Skyff- 
ington, somewhat embarrassed, “ my dear young 
lady . . . hem ... as . . . er . . . 

as you wish . . . but . . 

Then he turned deliberately to Sir Marmaduke, 
once more bringing him into the proceedings, and 
tacitly condemning her ladyship’s extraordinary at- 
titude towards his distinguished patron. 

“ Having now explained to Lady Sue Aldmarshe 
the terms of her noble father’s will,” he said, “ me- 
thinks that she is ready to receive the moneys from 


LADY SUE’S FORTUNE 


261 


our hands, good Sir Marmaduke, and thereupon to 
give us the proper receipt prescribed by law, for 
the same . . .” 

He checked himself for a moment, and then made 
a respectful if pointed suggestion : 

“ Mrs. de Chavasse? ” he said inquiringly. 

“ Mrs. de Chavasse is a member of the family,” 
replied Sir Marmaduke, “ the business can be trans- 
acted in her presence.” 

“ Nothing therefore remains to be said, my dear 
young lady,” rejoined Master Skyffington, once 
more speaking directly to Sue and placing his lean 
hands with fingers outstretched, over the bundles of 
papers lying before him. “ Here are your secur- 
ities, your grants, moneys and receipts, worth 
£500,000 of the present currency of this realm. 

. . These I, in mine own name and that of my 

honored friend and patron, Sir Marmaduke de Cha- 
vasse, do hereby hand over to you. You will, I 
pray, verify and sign the receipt in proper and due 
form.” 

He began sorting and overlooking the papers, 
muttering half audibly the while, as he transferred 
each bundle from his own side of the table to that 
beside which Lady Sue was sitting: 

“ The deeds of property in Holland . . . 

hem. . . . Receipt of moneys deposited at the 

bank of Amsterdam. . . . The same from the 

bank of Vienna. . . . Grant of monopoly for 

the hemp trade in Russia. . . . hem . . .” 

Thus he mumbled for some time, as these papers 


262 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


representing a fortune passed out of his keeping 
into those of a young maid but recently out of her 
’teens. Sue watched him silently and placidly, just 
as she had done throughout this momentous inter- 
view, which was, of a truth, the starting point of 
her independent life. 

Her face expressed neither joy nor excitement of 
any kind. She knew that all the wealth which now 
lay before her, would only pass briefly through her 
hands. She knew that the prince — her husband — 
was waiting for it even now. Nathless he was 
counting the hours when his young wife’s vast for- 
tune would come to him as the realization of all his 
dreams. 

In spite of her present disbelief in his love, in spite 
of the bitter knowledge that her own had waned, 
Sue had no misgivings as yet as to the honor, the 
truth, the loyalty of the man whose name she now 
bore. Her illusions were gone, her romance had 
become dull reality, but to one thought she clung 
with all the tenacity of despair, and that was to the 
illusion that Prince Amede d’Orleans was the self- 
less patriot, the regenerator of downtrodden France, 
which he represented himself to be. 

Because of that belief she welcomed the wealth, 
which she would this day be able to place in his 
hands. Her own girlish dreams had vanished, but 
her temperament was far too romantic and too 
poetic not to recreate illusions, even when the old 
ones had been so ruthlessly shattered. 

But this recreation would occur anon — not just 


LADY SUE’S FORTUNE 


263 


now, not at the very moment when her heart ached 
with an intolerable pain at thought of the sorrow 
which she had caused to her one friend. Presently, 
no doubt, when she met her husband, when his usual 
grandiloquent phrases had once more succeeded in 
arousing her enthusiasm for the cause which he 
pleaded, she would once more feel serene and happy 
at thought of the help which she with her great 
wealth would be giving him : for the nonce the whole 
transaction grated on her sense of romance; money 
passing from hand to hand, a man waiting some- 
where in the dark to receive wealth from a woman’s 
hand. 

Master Skyffington desired her to look over the 
papers, ere she signed the formal receipt for them, 
but she waved them gently aside: 

44 Quite unnecessary, kind master,” she said de- 
cisively, 44 since I receive them at your hands.” 

She bent over the document which the lawyer now 
placed before her, and took the pen from him. 

44 Where shall I sign ? ” she asked. 

Sir Marmaduke and Editha de Chavasse watched 
her keenly, as with a bold stroke of the pen she 
wrote her name across the receipt. 

44 Now the papers, please, master,” said Lady 
Sue peremptorily. 

But the prudent lawyer had still a word of pro- 
test to enter here. 

44 My dear young lady,” he said tentatively, awed 
in spite of himself by the self-possessed behavior of 
a maid whom up to now he had regarded as a mere 


264 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


child, “ let me, as a man of vast experience in such 
matters, repeat to you the well-meant advice which 
Sir Marmaduke . . 

But she checked him decisively, if not unkindly. 

“ You said, Master Skyffington, did you not,” 
she said, “ that after to-day no one had the slight- 
est control over my actions or over my fortune ? ” 

“ That is so, certainly,” he rejoined, “ but . . .” 

“Well, then, kind master, I pray you,” she said 
authoritatively, “ to hand me over all those secur- 
ities, grants and moneys, for which I have just 
signed a receipt.” 

There was naught to do for a punctilious lawyer, 
as was Master Skyffington, but to obey forthwith. 
This he did, without another word, collecting the 
various bundles of paper, and placing them one by 
one in the brown leather wallet which he had 
brought for the purpose. Sue watched him quietly, 
and when the last of the important documents had 
been deposited in the wallet, she held out her hand 
for it. 

With a grave bow, and an unconsciously pom- 
pous gesture, Master Skyffington, attorney-at-law, 
handed over that wallet which now contained a for- 
tune to Lady Susannah Aldmarshe. 

She took it, and graciously bowed her head to 
him in acknowledgment. Then, after a slight, dis- 
tinctly haughty nod to Sir Marmaduke and to 
Editha, she turned and walked silently out of the 
room. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


HUSBAND AND WIFE 

TV/TISTRESS MARTHA LAMBERT was a dig- 
-*■ nified old woman, on whose wrinkled face stern 
virtues sedulously practiced had left their lasting 
imprint. Among these virtues which she had thus 
somewhat ruthlessly exercised throughout her long 
life, cleanliness and orderliness stood out pre-emi- 
nently. They undoubtedly had brought some of the 
deepest furrows round her eyes and mouth, as in- 
deed they had done round those of Adam Lambert, 
who having lived with her all his life, had had to 
suffer from her passion of scrubbing and tidying 
more than anyone else. 

But her cottage was resplendent: her chief vir- 
tues being apparent in every nook and corner of 
the orderly little rooms which formed her home and 
that of the two lads whom a dying friend had en- 
trusted to her care. 

The parlor below, with its highly polished bits of 
furniture, its spotless wooden floor and whitewashed 
walls, was a miracle of cleanliness. The table in 
the center was laid with a snowy white cloth, on it 
the pewter candlesticks shone like antique silver. 
Two straight-backed mahogany chairs were drawn 
cosily near to the hearth, wherein burned a bright 
fire made up of ash logs. There was a quaint cir- 
265 


266 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


cular mirror in a gilt frame over the hearth, a relic 
of former somewhat more prosperous times. 

In one of the chairs lolled the mysterious lodger, 
whom a strange Fate in a perverse mood seemed to 
have wafted to this isolated little cottage on the out- 
skirts of the loneliest village in Thanet. 

Prince Amede d’Orleans was puffing at that 
strange weed which of late had taken such marked 
hold of most men, tending to idleness in them, for 
it caused them to sit staring at the smoke which 
they drew from pipes made of clay; surely the Lord 
had never intended such strange doings, and Mis- 
tress Martha would willingly have protested against 
the unpleasant odor thus created by her lodger 
when he was puffing away, only that she stood some- 
what in awe of his ill-humor and of his violent lan- 
guage, especially when Adam himself was from 
home. 

On these occasions — such, for instance, as the 
present one — she had perforce to be content with 
additional efforts at cleanliness, and, as she was 
convinced that so much smoke must be conducive to 
soot and dirt, she plied her dusting cloth with re- 
doubled vigor and energy. Whilst the prince lolled 
and pulled at his clay pipe, she busied herself all 
round the tiny room, polishing the backs of the old 
elm chairs, and the brass handles of the chest of 
drawers. 

“ How much longer are you going to fuss about, 
my good woman” quoth Prince Amede d’Orleans im- 


HUSBAND AND WIFE 


267 

patiently after a while. “ This shuffling round me 
irritates my nerves.” 

Mistress Martha, however, suffered from deafness. 
She could see from the quick, angry turn of the 
head that her lodger was addressing her, but did 
not catch his words. She drew a little nearer, bend- 
ing her ear to him. 

“ Eh ? . . . what ? ” she queried in that high- 

pitched voice peculiar to the deaf. “I am some- 
what hard of hearing just now. I did not hear 
thee.” 

But he pushed her roughly aside with a jerk of 
his elbow. 

“ Go away ! ” he said impatiently. “ Do not 
worry me ! ” 

“Ah! the little pigs?” she rejoined blithely. “I 
thank thee . . . they be doing nicely, thank 

the Lord . . . six of them and . . . eh? 
what? . . . I’m a bit hard of hearing these 
times.” 

He had some difficulty in keeping up even a sem- 
blance of calm. The placidity of the old Quakeress 
irritated him beyond endurance. He dreaded the 
return of Adam Lambert from his work, and worse 
still, he feared the arrival of Richard. Fortunately 
he had gathered from Martha that the young man 
had come home early in the day in a state of high 
nervous tension, bordering on acute fever. He had 
neither eaten nor drunk, but after tidying his clothes 
and reassuring her as to his future movements, he 


268 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

had sallied out into the woods and had not returned 
since then. 

Sir Marmaduke had quickly arrived at the con- 
clusion that Richard Lambert had seen and spoken 
to Lady Sue and had learned from her that she was 
now irrevocably married to him, whom she always 
called her prince. Nathless, the young man was fren- 
zied with grief, and in his weak state of health after 
the terrible happenings of the past few weeks would 
mayhap either go raving mad, or end his miserable 
existence over the cliffs. Either eventuality would 
suit Sir Marmaduke admirably, and he sighed with 
satisfaction at the thought that the knot between 
the heiress and himself was indeed tied sufficiently 
firm now to ensure her obedience to his will. 

There was to be one more scene in the brief and 
cruel drama which he had devised for the hoodwink- 
ing and final spoliation of a young and inexeperi- 
enced girl. She had earlier in the day been placed 
in possession of all the negotiable part of her for- 
tune. This, though by no means representing the 
whole of her wealth, which also lay in landed es- 
tates, was nevertheless of such magnitude that the 
thought of its possession caused every fiber in Sir 
Marmaduke’s body to thrill with the delight of ex- 
pectancy. 

One more brief scene in the drama: the handing 
over of that vast fortune, by the young girl-wife — 
blindly and obediently — to the man whom she be- 
lieved to be her husband. Once that scene enacted, 
the curtain would fall on the love episode ’twixt a 


HUSBAND AND WIFE 269 

romantic and ignorant maid and the most daring 
scoundrel that had ever committed crime to obtain 
a fortune. 

In anticipation of that last and magnificent de- 
nouement Sir Marmaduke had once more donned the 
disguise of the exiled Orleans prince: the elaborate 
clothes, the thick peruke, the black silk shade over 
the left eye, which gave him such a sinister expres- 
sion. 

Now he was literally devoured with the burning 
desire to see Sue arriving with that wallet in her 
hand, which contained securities and grants to the 
value of £500,000. A brief interlude with her, a 
few words of perfunctory affection, a few assur- 
ances of good faith, and he — as her princely hus- 
band — would vanish from her ken forever. 

He meant to go abroad immediately — this very 
night if possible. Prudence and caution could easily 
be thrown to the winds, once the negotiable securi- 
ties would actually be in his hands. What he could 
convert into money, he would do immediately, going 
to Amsterdam first, to withdraw the sum standing 
at the bank there on deposit, and for which anon he 
would possess the receipt ; after that the sale of the 
grant of monopolies should be easy of accomplish- 
ment. Sir Marmaduke had boundless faith in his own 
ability to carry through his own business. He might 
stand to lose some of the money perhaps, prudence 
and caution might necessitate the relinquishing of 
certain advantages, but even then he would be rich 
and passing rich, and he knew that he ran but little 


£70 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


risk of detection. The girl was young, inexperi- 
enced and singularly friendless : Sir Marmaduke felt 
convinced that none of the foreign transactions could 
ever be directly traced to himself. 

He would be prudent and Europe was wide: and 
he meant to leave English grants and securities 
severely alone. 

He had mused and pondered on his plans all day. 
The evening found him half-exhausted with nerve- 
strain, febrile and almost sick with the agony of 
waiting. 

He had calculated that Sue would be free to- 
wards seven o’clock, as he had given Editha strict 
injunctions to keep discreetly out of the way, whilst 
at a previous meeting in the park it had been ar- 
ranged that the young girl should come to the cot- 
tage with the money, on the evening of her £lst 
birthday and there hand her fortune over to her 
rightful lord. 

Now Sir Marmaduke cursed himself and his folly 
for having made this arrangement. He had not 
known — when he made it — that Richard would be 
back at Acol then. Adam the smith, never came 
home before eight o’clock and the old Quakeress her- 
self would not have been much in the way. 

Even now she had shuffled back into her kitchen, 
leaving her ill-humored lodger to puff away at the 
malodorous weed as he chose. But Richard might 
return at any moment, and then 

Sir Marmaduke had never thought of that pos- 


HUSBAND AND WIFE 


m 


sible contingency. If Richard Lambert came face 
to face with him, he would of a surety pierce the 
disguise of the prince, and recognize the man who 
had so deeply wronged poor, unsuspecting Lady 
Sue. If only a kindly Fate had kept the young man 
away another twenty-four hours ! or better still, if it 
led the despairing lover’s footsteps to the extremest 
edge of the cliffs! 

Sir Marmaduke now paced the narrow room up 
and down in an agony of impatience. Nine o’clock 
had struck long ago, but Sue had not yet come. 
The wildest imaginings ran riot in the schemer’s 
brain : every hour, nay ! every minute spent within 
was fraught with danger. He sought his broad- 
brimmed hat, determined now to meet Sue in the 
park, to sally forth at risk of missing her, at risk 
of her arriving here at the cottage when he was ab- 
sent, and of her meeting Richard Lambert perhaps, 
before the irrevocable deed of gift had been accom- 
plished. 

Btit the suspense was intolerable. 

With a violent oath Sir Marmaduke pressed the 
hat over his head, and strode to the door. 

His hand was on the latch, when he heard a faint 
sound from without: a girl’s footsteps timorous yet 
swift along the narrow flagged path which led from 
the tiny garden gate. 

The next moment he had thrown open the door 
and Sue stood before him. 

Any one but a bold and unscrupulous schemer 


m NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


would have been struck by the pathos of the soli- 
tary figure which now appeared in the tiny door- 
way. The penetrating November drizzle had soaked 
through the dark cloak and hood which now hung 
heavy and dank round the young girl’s shoulders. 
Framed by the hood, her face appeared preter- 
naturally pale, her lips were quivering and her eyes, 
large and dilated, had almost a hunted look in them. 

Oh! the pity and sadness of it all! For in her 
small and trembling hands she was clutching with 
pathetic tenacity a small, brown wallet which con- 
tained a fortune worthy of a princess. 

She looked eagerly into her husband’s face, dread- 
ing the scowl, the outburst of anger or jealousy may- 
hap with which of late, alas ! he had so oft greeted 
her arrival. But as was his wont he stood with his 
back to the lighted room, and she could not read 
the expression of that one cyclops-like eye, which 
to-night appeared more sinister than ever beneath 
the thick peruke and broad-brimmed hat. 

“ I am sorry to be so late,” she said timidly, “ the 
evening repast at the Court was interminable and 
Mistress de Chavasse full of gossip.” 

“ Yes, yes, I know,” he replied, “ am I not used 
to seeing that your social duties oft make you for- 
get your husband? ” 

“ You are unjust, Amede,” she rejoined. 

She entered the little parlor and stood beside the 
table, making no movement to divest herself of her 
dripping cloak, or to sit down, nor indeed did her 
husband show the slightest inclination to ask her to 


HUSBAND AND WIFE 


273 


do either. He had closed the door behind her, and 
followed her to the center of the room. Was it by 
accident or design that as he reached the table he 
threw his broad-brimmed hat down with such an un- 
necessary flourish of the arm that he knocked over 
one of the heavy pewter candlesticks, so that it 
rolled down onto the floor, causing the tallow candle 
to splutter and die out with a weird and hissing 
sound. 

Only one dim yellow light now illumined the room, 
it shone full into the pallid face of the young wife 
standing some three paces from the table, whilst 
Prince Amede d’Orleans’ face between her and the 
light was once more in deep shadow. 

“You are unjust,” she repeated firmly. “Have 
I not run the gravest possible risks for your sake, 
and those without murmur or complaint for the past 
six months? Did I not compromise my reputation 
for you by meeting you alone ... of 
nights? . . .” 

“ I was laboring under the idea, my wench, that 
you were doing all that because you cared for me,” 
he retorted with almost brutal curtness, “ and be- 
cause you had the desire to become the Princess 
d’Orleans ; that desire is now gratified and . . 

He had not really meant to be unkind. There 
was of a truth no object to be gained by being 
brutal to her now. But that wallet, which she held 

i 

so tightly clutched acted as an irritant on his nerves. 
Never of very equable temperament and holding all 
women in lofty scorn, he chafed against all parley- 


n 4 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK^ 

ings with his wife, now that the goal of his ambition 
was so close at hand. 

She winced at the insult, and the tears which she 
fain would have hidden from him, rose involuntarily 
to her eyes. 

' 44 Ah ! ” she sighed, 44 if you only knew how little 
I care for that title of Princess ! . . . Did you 

perchance think that I cared? . . . Nay! how 

gladly would I give up all thought of ever bearing 
that proud appellation, in exchange for a few more 
happy illusions such as I possessed three months 
ago.” 

44 Illusions are all very well for a school-girl, my 
dear Suzanne,” he remarked with a cool shrug of his 
massive shoulders. 44 Reality should be more at- 
tractive to you now. . . .” 

He looked her up and down, realizing perhaps for 
the first time that she was exquisitely beautiful ; 
beautiful always, but more so now in the pathos of 
her helplessness. Somewhat perfunctorily, because 
in his ignorance of women he thought that it would 
please her, and also because vaguely something hu- 
man and elemental had suddenly roused his pulses, 
he relinquished his nonchalant attitude, and came 
a step nearer to her. 

44 You are very beautiful, my Suzanne,” he said 
half-ironically, and with marked emphasis on the 
possessive. 

Again he drew nearer, not choosing to note the 
instinctive stiffening of her figure, the shrinking 
look in her eyes. He caught her arm and drew her 


HUSBAND AND WIFE 


275 


to him, laughing a low mocking laugh as he did 
so, for she had turned her face away from him. 

“ Come,” he said lightly, 64 will you not kiss me, 
my beautiful Suzanne? . . . my wife, my Prin- 

cess.” 

She was silent, impassive, indifferent so he 
thought : although the arm which he held trembled 
within his grip. 

He stretched out his other hand, and taking her 
chin between his fingers, he forcibly turned her face 
towards him. Something in her face, in her atti- 
tude now roused a certain rough passion in him. 
Mayhap the weary waiting during the day, the 
agonizing impatience, or the golden argosy so near 
to port, had strung up his nerves to fever pitch. 

Irritation against her impassiveness, in such glar- 
ing contrast to her glowing ardor of but a few 
weeks ago, mingled with that essentially male desire 
to subdue and to conquer that which is inclined to 
resist, sent the blood coursing wildly through his 
veins. 

44 Ah ! ” he said with a sigh half of desire, half of 
satisfaction, as he looked into her upturned face, 
“the chaste blush of the bride is vastly becoming 
to you, my Suzanne! ... it acts as fuel to 
the flames of my love . . . since I can well re- 

member the passionate kisses you gave me so will- 
ingly awhile ago.” 

The thought of that happy past, gave her sud- 
den strength. Catching him unawares she wrenched 
herself free from his hold. 


276 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

“ This is a mockery, Prince,” she said with ve- 
hemence, and meeting his half-mocking glance with 
one of scorn. “ Do you think that I have been 
blind' these last few weeks? . . . Your love for 

me hath changed, if indeed it ever existed, whilst 

I . . ” 

“ Whilst you, my beautiful Suzanne,” he rejoined 
lightly, “ are mine . . . irrevocably, irretriev- 
ably mine . . . mine because ^ I love you, and 

because you are my wife . . . and owe me that 

obedience which you vowed to Heaven that you would 
give me. . . . That is so, is it not? ” 

There was a moment’s silence in the tiny cottage 
parlor now, whilst he — gauging the full value of his 
words, knowing by instinct that he had struck the 
right cord in that vibrating girlish heart, watched 
the subtle change in her face from defiance and 
wrath to submission and appeal. 

“ Yes, Amede,” she murmured after a while, “I 
owe you obedience, honor and love, and you need 
not fear that I will fail in either. But you,” she 
added with pathetic anxiety, “ you do care for me 
still? do you not? ” 

“ Of course I care for you,” he remarked, “ I 
worship you. . . . There ! . . . will that 

satisfy you? . . . And now?” he added per- 

emptorily, “have you brought the money?” 

The short interlude of passion was over. His 
eye had accidentally rested for one second on the 
leather wallet, which she still held tightly clutched, 


HUSBAND AND WIFE 277 

and all thoughts of her beauty, of his power or his 
desires had flown out to the winds. 

“ Yes,” she replied meekly, 44 it is all here, in the 
wallet.” 

She laid it down upon the table, feeling neither 
anxiety nor remorse. He was her husband and had 
a right to her fortune, as he had to her person and 
to her thoughts and heart an he wished. Nor did 
she care about the money as to the value of which 
she was of course ignorant. 

Her wealth, up to now, had only had a meaning 
for her, as part of some noble scheme for the re- 
generation of mankind. Now she hoped vaguely as 
she put that wallet down on the table, then pushed 
it towards her husband that she was purchasing her 
freedom with her wealth. 

Certainly she realized that his thoughts had very 
quickly been diverted from her beauty to the con- 
tents of the wallet. The mocking laugh died down 
on his lips, giving place to a sigh of deep satisfac- 
tion. 

44 You were very prudent, my dear Suzanne, to 
place this portion of your wealth in my charge,” he 
said as he slipped the bulky papers into the lining 
of his doublet. 44 Of course it is all yours, and I — 
your husband — am but the depository and guardian 
of your fortune. And now methinks ’twere prudent 
for you to return to the Court. Sir Marmaduke de 
Chavasse will be missing you. . . .” 

It did not seem to strike her as strange that he 
should dismiss her thus abruptly, and make no at- 


278 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


tempt to explain what his future plans might be, 
nor indeed what his intentions were with regard to 
herself. 

The intensity of her disappointment, the utter 
loneliness and helplessness of her position had caused 
a veritable numbing of her faculties and of her 
spirits : and for the moment she was perhaps primar- 
ily conscious of a sense of relief at her dismissal. 

Like her wedding in the dismal little church, this 
day of her birthday, of her independence, of her 
handing over her fortune to her husband for the 
glorious purposes of his selfless schemes had been so 
very, very different to what she had pictured to her- 
self in her girlish and romantic dreams. 

The sordidness of it all had ruthlessly struck her; 
for the first time in her intercourse with this man, 
she doubted the genuineness of his motives. With 
the passing of her fortune from her hands to his, 
the last vestige of belief in him died down with 
appalling suddenness. 

It could not have been because of the expression 
in his eyes, as he fingered the wallet, for this she 
could not see, since his face was still in shadow. 
It must have been just instinct — that, and the 
mockery of his attempt to make love to her. Had 
he ever loved her, he could not have mocked . 
not now, that she was helpless and entirely at his 
mercy. 

Love once felt, is sacred to him who feels : mockery 
even of the ashes of Love is an impossible desecra- 
tion, one beyond the power of any man. Then, if 


HUSBAND AND WIFE 


279 


he had never loved her, why had he pretended? Why 
have deceived her with a semblance of passion? 

And the icy whisper of reason blew into her men- 
tal ear, the ugly word: “Money.” 

He opened the door for her, and without another 
word she passed out into the dark night. Only 
when she reached the tiny gate at the end of the 
ffagged path, did she realize that he was walking 
with her. 

“ I can find my way alone through the woods,” 
she said coldly. “ I came alone.” 

“ It was earlier then,” he rejoined blandly, “ and 
I prefer to see you safely as far as the park.” 

And they walked on side by side in silence. Over- 
head the melancholy drip of moisture falling from 
leaf to leaf, and from leaf to the ground was the 
only sound that accompanied their footsteps. Sue 
shivered beneath her damp cloak ; but she walked as 
far away from him as the width of the woodland 
path allowed. He seemed absorbed in his own 
thoughts and not to notice how she shrank from 
the slightest contact with him. 

At the park gate he paused, having opened it for 
her to pass through. 

“ I must bid you good-night here, Suzanne,” he 
said lightly, “ there may be footpads about and I 
must place your securities away under lock and key. 
I may be absent a few days for that purp'ose. 

London you know,” he added vaguely. 

Then as she made no comment: 

“ J will arrange for our next meeting,” he said, 


280 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


44 anon there will be no necessity to keep our mar- 
riage a secret, but until I give you permission to 
speak of it, ’twere better that you remained silent 
on that score.” 

She contrived to murmur: 

“ As you will.” 

And presently, as he made no movement towards 
her, she said: 

44 Good-night ! ” 

This time he had not even desired to kiss her. 

The next moment she had disappeared in the 
gloom. She fled as fast as she dared in the inky 
blackness of this November night. She could have 
run for miles, or for hours, away ! away from all 
this sordidness, this avarice, this deceit and cruelty! 
Away ! away from him ! ! 

How glad she was that darkness enveloped her, 
for now she felt horribly ashamed. Instinct, too is 
cruel at times ! Instinct had been silent so long 
during the most critical juncture of her own folly. 
Now it spoke loudly, warningly now that it was too 
late. 

Ashamed of her own stupidity and blindness ! her 
vanity mayhap had alone led her to believe the pas- 
sionate protestations of a liar. 

A liar! a mean, cowardly schemer, but her hus- 
band for all that ! She owed him love, honor and 
obedience, if he commanded she must obey, if he 
called she must fain go to him. 

Oh ! please God ! that she had succeeded in pur- 


HUSBAND AND WIFE 


281 


chasing her freedom from him by placing £500,000 
in his hands. 

Shame ! shame that this should be ! that she should 
have mistaken vile schemes for Love, that a liar’s 
kisses should have polluted her soul ! that she should 
be the wife, the bondswoman of a cheat! 


f 



CHAPTER XXIX 


GOOD-BYE 


S UE!” 

The cry rang out in the night close to her, 
and arrested her fleeing footsteps. She was close 
to the ha-ha, having run on blindly, madly, guided 
by that unaccountable instinct which makes for the 
shelter of home. 

In a moment she had recognized the voice. In a 
moment she was beside her friend. Her passionate 
mood passed away, leaving her calm and almost at 
peace. Shame still caused her cheeks to burn, but 
the night was dark and doubtless he would not see. 

But she could feel that he was near her, there- 
fore, there was no fear in her. What had guided 
her footsteps hither she did not know. Of course 
he had guessed that she had been to meet her hus- 
band. 

There were no exclamations or protestations be- 
tween them. She merely said quite simply : 

“ I am glad that you came to say 6 good-bye ! 9 99 
The park was open here. The nearest trees were 
some fifty paces away, and in the ghostly darkness, 
they could just perceive one another’s silhouette. 
The mist enveloped them as with a shroud, the 
damp cold air caused them to shiver as under the 
embrace of death. 


282 


GOOD-BYE 


283 


“ It is good-bye,” he rejoined calmly. 

66 Mayhap that I shall go abroad soon,” .she said. 

“ With that man?” 

The cry broke out from the bitterness of his heart, 
but a cold little hand was placed restrainingly on 
his. 

44 When I go . . . if I go,” she murmured, 

44 I shall do so with my husband. . . . You see, 

my friend, do you not? that there is naught else 
to say but 4 good-bye ’ ? ” 

44 And you will be happy, Sue?” he asked. 

44 I hope so ! ” she sighed wistfully. 

44 You will always remember, will you not, my 
dear lady? that wherever you may be, there is al- 
ways some one in remote Thanet, who is ready at 
any time to give his life for you.” 

44 Yes ! I will remember,” she said simply. 

44 And you must promise me,” he insisted, 44 prom- 
ise me now, Sue, that if which Heaven 

forbid . . . you are in any trouble or sorrow, 

and ( I can do aught for you, that you will let me 
know and send for me . . . and I will come.” 

44 Yes, Richard, I promise. . . . Good-by.” 

And she was gone. The mist, the gloom hid her 
completely from view. He waited by the little 
bridge, for the night was still and he would have 
heard if she called. 

He heard \ her light footsteps on the gravel, then 
on the flagged walk. Anon came the sound of the 
opening and shutting of a door. After that, si- 
lence: the silence of a winter’s night, when not a 


28 4 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


breath of wind stirs the dead branches of the trees, 
when woodland and field and park are wrapped in 
the shroud of the mist. 

Richard Lambert turned back towards the village. 

Sue — married to another man — had passed out 
of his life forever. 



i 

' f 



CHAPTER XXX 


ALL BECAUSE OF THE TINDER-BOX 

H OW oft it is in Life that Fate leading a trav- 
eler in easy gradients 'upwards along a road 
of triumph suddenly assumes a madcap mood 
and with wanton hand throws a tiny obstacle 
in his way; and obstacle at times infinitesimal, 'scared 
visible on that way towards success, yet powerful 
enough to trip the unwary traveler and bring him 
down to earth with sudden and woeful vigor. 

With Sir Marmaduke so far everything had pros- 
pered according to his wish. He had inveigled the 
heiress into a marriage which bound her to his will, 
yet left him personally free: she had placed her for- 
tune unreservedly and unconditionally in his hands, 
and had so far as he knew not even suspected the 
treachery practised upon her by her guardian. 

Not a soul had pierced his disguise, and the iden- 
tity of Prince Amede d’Orleans was unknown even 
to his girl-wife. 

With the disappearance of that mysterious per- 
sonage Sir Marmaduke having realized Lady Sue’s 
fortune, could resume life as an independent gen- 
tleman, with this difference, that henceforth he 
would be passing rich, able to gratify his ambition, 
to »cut a figure in the world as he chose. 

Fortune which had been his idol all his life, now 


285 


28 6 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

was indeed his slave. He had it, he possessed it. 
It lay snug and safe in a 'leather wallet inside the 
lining of his doublet. 

Sue had gone out of his sight: desirous appar- 
ently of turning her back on him forever. He was 
free and rich. The game had been risky, daring 
beyond belief, yet he had won in the end. He could 
afford to laugh now at all the dangers, the subter- 
fuges, the machinations which had^ all gone to the 
making of that tragic comedy in which he had been 
the principal actor.' 

The last scene in the drama had been successfully 
enacted. The curtain had been finally lowered: and 
Sir Marmaduke swore that there should be no epi- 
logue to the play. 

Then it was that Fate — so well-named the wan- 
ton jade — shook herself from out the torpor with 
which she had wandered for so long beside this Kent- 
ish Squire. A spirit of mischief seized upon her 
and whispered that she had held this man quite long 
enough by the hand and that it would be far more 
amusing now to see him measure his length on 'the 
ground. 

And all that Fate did, in order to satisfy this 
spirit of mischief was to cause Sir Marmaduke to 
forget his tinder-box in the front parlor of Mis- 
tress Martha Lambert’s cottage. 

A tinder-box is a small matter! an object of in- 
finitesimal importance when the broad light of day 
illumines the interior of houses or the bosquets of a 
park, but it becomes an object of paramount im- 


ALL BECAUSE OF THE TINDER-BOX 287 

portance, when the night is pitch dark, and when it 
is necessary to effect an exchange of clothing within 
the four wall of a pavilion. 

Sir Marmaduke had walked to the park gates 
with his wife, not so much because he was anxious 
for her safety, but chiefly because he meant to re- 
tire within the pavilion, there to cast aside forever 
the costume and appurtenances of Prince Amede 
d’Orleans and to reassume the sable-colored doublet 
and breeches of the Roundhead ‘Squire: which pro- 
ceeding he had for the past six months invariably 
accomplished in the lonely little building on the out- 
skirts of his own park. 

As soon, therefore, as he realized that Sue had 
gone, he turned his steps towards the pavilion. 
The night seemed additionally dark here under the 
elms, and Sir Marmaduke searched in his pocket for 
his tinder-box. 

It was not there. He had left it at the cottage, 
and quickly recollected seeing it lying on the table 
at the very moment that Sue pushed the leather 
wallet towards him. 

He had mounted the few stone steps which led up 
to the building, but even whilst he groped for the 
latch with an impatient hand, he realized how im- 
possible it would be for him anon, to change his 
clothes, in the dark: not only to undress and dress 
again, but to collect the belongings of the Prince 
d’Orleans subsequently, for the purpose of destroy- 
ing them at an early opportunity. 

Groping about in inky blackness might mean the 


288 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


forgetting of some article of apparel, which, if found 
later on, might lead to suspicion or even detection of 
the fraud. Sir Marmaduke dared not risk it. 

Light he needed, and light he ought to have. The 
tinder-box had become of paramount importance, 
and it was sheer wantonness on the part of Fate, 
that she should have allowed that little article to 
rest forgotten on the table in Mistress Lambert’s 
cottage. 

Sir Marmaduke remained pondering — in the dark- 
ness and the mist — for a while. His own doublet 
and breeches, shoes and stockings were in the pavil- 
ion : would he ever be able to get at them without a 
light? No, certainly not! nor could he venture to 
go home to' the Court in his present disguise, and 
leave his usual clothes in this remote building. 

Prying, suspicious eyes — such as those of Master 
Hymn of Praise Busy, for instance, might prove ex- 
ceedingly uncomfortable and even dangerous. 

On the other hand, would it not be ten thousand 
times more dangerous to go back to the cottage now 
and risk meeting Richard Lambert face to face? 

And it was Richard whom Sir Marmaduke feared. 

He had, therefore, almost decided to try his luck 
at dressing in the dark, and was once more fumbling 
with the latch of the pavilion door, when through 
the absolute silence of the air, there came to his ear 
through the mist the sound of a young voice calling 
the name of 44 Sue ! ” 

The voice was that of Richard Lambert. 

The coast would be clear then. Richard had met 


ALL BECAUSE OF THE TINDER-BOX 289 

Sue in the park : no doubt he would hold her a few 
moments in conversation. The schemer cared not 
what the two young people would or would not say 
to one another; all that interested him now was the 
fact that Richard was not fat the cottage, and that, 
therefore, it would be safe to run back and fetch 
the tinder-box. 

All this was a part of Fate’s mischievous prank. 
Sir Marmaduke was not afraid of meeting the old 
Quakeress, not yet the surly smith: Richard being 
out of the way, he had no misgivings in his mind 
when he retraced his steps towards the cottage. 

It was close on eight o’clock then, in fact the tiny 
bell in >Acol church struck the hour even as Sir 
Marmaduke lifted the latch of the little garden gate. 

The old woman was in the parlor, busy as usual 
with her dusting cloth. Without heeding her 'Sir 
Marmaduke strode up to the table and pushing the 
crockery, which now littered it, aside, he searched 
for his tinder-box. 

It was not there. With an impatient oath, he 
turned to Mistress Martha, and roughly demanded 
if she had seen it. 

“Eh? . . . What?” she queried, shuffling a 

little nearer to him, “ I am somewhat hard of hear- 
ing ... as thou knowest. . . .” 

“ Have you seen my tinder-box? ” he repeated with 
ever-growing irritation. 

“ Ah, yea, the fog ! ” she said blandly, “ ’tis damp 
too, of a truth, and . . .” 

“ Hold your confounded tongue ! ” he shouted 


290 NEST OP THE SPARROWHAWK 


wrathfully, 44 and try and hear me. My tinder- 
box. . . .” 

44 Thy what ? I am a bit . . 

44 Curse you for an old fool,” swore Sir Marma- 
duke, who by now was in a towering passion. 

With a violent gesture he pushed the old woman 
aside and turning on her in an uncontrolled access 
of fury, with both arms upraised, he shouted: 

44 If you don’t hear me now, I’ll break every bone 
in your ugly body. . . . Where is my . . .” 

It had all happened in a very few seconds : his 
entrance, his search for the missing box, the growing 
irritation in him which had caused him to lose con- 
trol of his temper. And now, even before the threat- 
ening words were well out of his mouth, he suddenly 
felt a vigorous onslaught from the rear, and his own 
throat clutched by strong and sinewy fingers. 

44 And I’ll break every bone in thy accursed body,” 
shouted a hoarse voice close to his ear, 44 if thou 
darest so much as lay a finger on the old woman.” 

The struggle was violent and brief. Sir Marma- 
duke already felt himself overmastered. Adam Lam- 
bert had taken him unawares. He was rough and 
very powerful. Sir Marmaduke was no weakling, 
yet encumbered by his fantastic clothes he was no 
match for the smith. Adam turned him about in his 
nervy hands like a puppet. 

Now he was in front and above him, glaring down 
at the man he hated with eyes which would have 
searched the very depths of his enemy’s soul. 


ALL BECAUSE OF THE TINDER-BOX 291 

“ Thou damned foreigner,” he growled between 
clenched teeth, “ Thou vermin ! . Thou toad ! 

Thou ... on thy knees ! ... on thy 

knees I say . . . beg her pardon for thy foul 
language . . . now at once . . . dost 
hear? . . . ere I squeeze the breath out of 

thee. . . .” 

Sir Marmaduke felt his knees giving way under 
him, the smith’s grasp on his throat had in no way 
relaxed. Mistress Martha vainly tried to interpose. 
She was all for peace, and knew that the Lord liked 
not a fiery temper. But the look in Adam’s face 
frightened her, and she had always been in terror 
of the foreigner. Without thought, and imagining 
that ’twas her presence which irritated the lodger, 
she beat a hasty retreat to her room upstairs, even 
as Adam Lambert finally succeeded in forcing Sir 
Marmaduke down on his knees, not ceasing to re- 
peat the while: 

“ Her pardon . . . beg her pardon my fine 

prince . . . lick the dust in an English cottage, 

thou foreign devil ... or, by God, I will kill 
thee! . . .” 

“ Let me go ! ” gasped Sir Marmaduke, whom the 
icy fear of imminent discovery gripped more ef- 
fectually even than did the village blacksmith’s mus- 
cular fingers, “ let me go . . . damn you ! ” 

“ Not before- 1 have made thee lick the dust,” said 
Adam grimly, bringing one huge palm down on the 
elaborate perruque, and forcing Sir Marmaduke’s 


292 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


head down, down towards the ground, “ lick it 
lick it . . Prince of Orleans . . .” 

He burst out laughing in the midst of his fury, 
at sight of this disdainful gentleman, with the proud 
title, about to come in violent contact with <a cot- 
tage floor. But Sir Marmaduke struggled violently 
still. He had been wiser no doubt to take the hu- 
miliation quietly, to lick the dust and to pacify the 
smith: but what man is there who would submit to 
brute force without using his own to protect him- 
self ? 

Then Fate at last worked her wanton will. 

In the struggle the fantastic peruke and heavy 
moustache of Prince Amede d’Orleans remained in 
the smith’s hand whilst it was the round head and 
clean shaven face of Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse 
which came in contact with the floor. 

In an instant, stricken at first dumb with surprise 
and horror, but quickly recovering the power of 
speech, Adam Lambert murmured: 

“You? . . . You? . . . Sir Marmaduke 

de Chavasse ! . Oh ! my God ! . . .” 

His grip on his enemy had, of course, relaxed. 
Sir Marmaduke was able to struggle to his feet. 
Fate had dealt him a blow as unexpected as it was 
violent. But he had not been the daring , schemer 
that he was, if throughout the past six months, the 
possibility of such a moment as this had not lurked 
at the back of his mind. 

The blow, therefore, did not find him quite un- 


ALL BECAUSE OF THE TINDER-BOX 293 


prepared. It had been stunning but not absolutely 
crushing. Even whilst Adam Lambert was staring 
with almost senseless amazement alternately at, him 
and at the bundle of false hair which he was still 
clutching, Sir Marmaduke had struggled to his feet. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE ASSIGNATION 

H E had recovered his outward composure at any 
rate, and the next moment wa,s busy re-ad- 
justing his doublet and bands before the mirror over 
the hearth. 

“Yes! my violent friend!” he said coolly, speak- 
ing over his shoulder, “ of a truth it is mine own 
self! Your landlord you see to whom that worthy 
woman upstairs owes this nice cottage which she has 
had rent free for over ten years . . . not the 

foreign vermin, you see,” he added with a pleasant 
laugh, “which maketh your actions of 'just now 
somewhat unpleasant to explain. Is that not so?” 

“Nay! but by the Lord! ” quoth Adam Lambert, 
still somewhat dazed, vaguely frightened himself 
now at the magnitude, the importance of what he 
had done, “ meseems that ’tis thine actions, friend, 
which will be unpleasant to explain. Thou didst 
not put on these play-actor’s robes for a good pur- 
pose I’ll warrant! ... I cannot guess what is 
thy game, but methinks her young ladyship would 
wish to know something of its rules ... or 
mayhap* my brother Richard who is no friend of 
thine, forsooth.” 

Gradually his voice had become steadier, his man- 
ner more assured. A glimmer of light on the Squire’s 
294 


THE ASSIGNATION 


295 


strange doings had begun to penetrate his simple, 
dull brain. Vaguely he guessed the purport of the 
disguise and of the lies, and the mention of Lady 
Sue’s name was not an arrow shot thoughtlessly into 
the air. At the same time he had not perceived the 
slightest quiver of fear or even of anxiety on Sir 
Marmaduke’s face. 

The latter had in the meanwhile put his crumpled 
toilet in order and now turned with an urbane smile 
to his glowering antagonist. 

“ I will not deny, kind master,” he said pleasantly, 
“ that you might cause me a vast amount of un- 
pleasantness - just now . . . although of a 

truth, I do not perceive that you would benefit your- 
self overmuch thereby. On the contrary, you would 
vastly lose. Your worthy aunt, Mistress Lambert* 
would lose a pleasant home, and you would never 
know what you and your brother Richard have 
vainly striven to find out these past ten years.” 

“ What may that be, pray ? ” queried the smith 
sullenly. 

“ Who you both are,” rejoined Sir Marmaduke 
blandly, as he calmly sat down in one of the stiff- 
backed elm chairs beside the hearth, “ and why wor- 
thy Mistress Lambert never speaks to you of your 
parentage.” 

“ Who we both are ? ” retorted Lambert with ob- 
vious bitterness, “ two poor castaways, who, but for 
the old woman would have been left to starve, and 
who have tried, therefore, to be a bit grateful to 
her, and to earn an honest livelihood. That is what 


296 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


we are, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse ; and now prithee 
tell me, who the devil art thou ? ” 

“ You are overfond of swearing, worthy master,” 
quoth Sir Marmaduke lightly, “ ’tis sinful .so I’m 
told for one of your creed. But that is no matter 
to me. You are, believe me, somewhat more inter- 
esting than you imagine. Though I doubt if to a 
Quaker, being heir to title and vast estates hath 
more than a fleeting interest.” 

But the smith had shrugged his broad shoulders 
and uttered an exclamation of contempt. 

“ Title and vast estates ? 99 he said with an ironical 
laugh. “ Nay! Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, the 
bait is passing clumsy. An you wish me to hold 
my tongue about you and your affairs, you’ll have 
to be vastly sharper than that.” 

“ You mistake me, friend smith, I am not en- 
deavoring to purchase your silence. I hold certain 
information relating to your parentage. This I 
would be willing to impart to a friend, yet loth to 
do so to an enemy. A man doth not like to see his 
enemy in possession of £15,000 a year. Does hep 99 

And Sir Marmaduke appeared absorbed in the 
contemplation of his left shoe, whilst Adam Lambert 
repeated stupidly and vaguely: 

“ £15,000 a year? I?” 

“ Even you, my friend.” 

This was said so simply, and with such conviction- 
carrying certainty — that in spite of himself Lam- 
bert’s sulkiness vanished. He drew nearer to Sir 


THE ASSIGNATION 


297 


Marmaduke, looked down on him silently for a sec- 
ond or two, then muttered through his teeth: 

“You have the proofs?” 

“ They will be at your service, my choleric 
friend,” replied the other suavely, “ in exchange for 
your silence.” 

Adam Lambert drew a chair close to his whilom 
enemy, sat down opposite to him, with elbows rest- 
ing on his knee, his clenched fists supporting his 
chin, and his eyes — anxious, eager, glowing, fixed 
resolutely on de Chavasse. 

“ I’ll hold my tongue, never fear,” he said curtly. 
“ Show me the proofs.” 

Sir Marmaduke gave a pleasant little laugh. 

“ Not so fast, my friend,” he said, “ I do not 
carry such important papers about in my breeches’ 
pocket.” 

And he rose from his chair, picked up the per- 
ruque and false moustache which the other man had 
dropped onto the floor, and adjusting these on his' 
head and face he once more presented the appear- 
ance of the exiled Orleans prince. 

“ But thou’lt show them to me to-night,” insisted 
the smith roughly. 

“ How can I, mine impatient friend ? ” quoth de 
Chavasse lightly, “ the hour is late already.” 

“Nay! what matter the lateness of the hour? I 
am oft abroad at night, early and late, and thou, 
methinks, hast oft had the midnight hour for com- 
pany. When and where wilt meet me? ” added Lam- 
bert peremptorily, “ I must see those proofs to- 


298 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


night, before many hours are over, lest the blood 
in my veins bum my body to ashes with impatience. 
When wilt you meet me? Eleven? . . . Mid- 
night ? ... or the small hours of the morn ? ” 

He spoke quickly, jerking out his words through 
closed teeth, his eyes burning with inward fever, his 
fists closing and unclosing with rapid febrile move- 
ments of the fingers. 

The pent-up disappointment and rebellion against 
Fate, of a whole life-time, was expressed in the man’s 
attitude, the agonizing eagerness which indeed 
seemed to be consuming him. 

De Chavasse, on the other hand, had become sin- 
gularly calm. The black shade as usual hid one of 
his eyes, masking and distorting the expression of 
his face: the false mustache, too, concealed the 
movements of his lips, and the more his opponent’s 
eyes tried to search the schemer’s face, the . more in- 
scrutable and bland did the latter become. 

“ Nay, my friend,” he said at last, “ I do not 
know that the thought of a midnight excursion with 
you appeals to my sense of personal security. 
I . . .” 

But with a violent * oath, Adam had jumped to his^ 
feet, and kicked the chair away from under him so 
that it fell backwards with a loud clatter. 

“ Thou’lt meet me to-night,” he said loudly and 
threateningly now, “thou’lt meet me on the path 
near the cliffs of Epple Bay half an hour before 
midnight, and if thou hast lied to me, I’ll throw 
thee over and Thanet then will be rid of thee , . , 


THE ASSIGNATION 


299 


but if thou dost not come, I’ll to my brother Rich- 
ard even before the church clock of Acol hath sounded 
the hour of midnight.” 

De Chavasse watched him silently for the space 
of three seconds, realizing, of course, that he was 
completely in that man’s power, and also that the 
smith meant every word that he said. The dis- 
covery of the monstrous fraud by Richard Lambert 
within the next few hours was a contingency which 
he could not even contemplate without shuddering. 
He certainly would much prefer to give up to this 
uncouth laborer the proofs of his parentage which 
eventually might mean an Earldom and a fortune 
to a village blacksmith. 

Sir Marmaduke had reflected on all this, of course, 
before broaching the subject to Adam Lambert at 
all. Now he was prepared to go through with the 
scheme to the end if need be. His uncle, the Earl 
of Northallerton might live another twenty years, 
whilst he himself — if pursued for fraud, might have 
to spend those years in jail. 

On the whole it was simpler to purchase the 
smith’s silence . . . this way or another. Sir 

Marmaduke’s reflections at this moment would have 
delighted those evil spirits who are supposed to revel 
in the misdoings of mankind. 

The thought of the lonely path near the cliffs 
of Epple Bay tickled his fancy in a manner for 
which perhaps at this moment he himself could not 
have accounted. He certainly did not fear Adam 
Lambert and now said decisively : 


300 NEST OF THE SFARROWHAWK 


44 Very well, my friend, an you wish it, I’ll come.” 

44 Half an hour before midnight,” insisted Lam- 
bert, 44 on the cliffs at Epple Bay.” 

44 Half an hour before midnight: on the cliffs of 
Epple Bay,” assented the other. 

He picked up his hat. 

44 Where art going?” queried the smith sus- 
piciously. 

44 To change my clothing,” replied Sir Marma- 
duke, who was fingering that fateful tinder-box 
which alone had brought about the present crisis, 
44 and to fetch those proofs which you are so anxious 
to see.” 

44 Thou’lt not fail me? ” 

44 Surely not,” quoth de Chavasse, as he finally 
went out of the room. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE PATH NEAR THE CLIFFS 

I 'HE mist had not lifted. Over the sea it hung 
heavy and dank like a huge sheet of gray 
thrown over things secret and unavowable. It was 
thickest down in the bay lurking in the crevices of 
the chalk, in the great caverns and mighty archi- 
tecture carved by the patient toil of the billows in 
the solid mass of the cliffs. 

Up above it was slightly less dense: allowing dis- 
tinct peeps of the rough carpet of coarse grass, of 
the downtrodden path winding towards Acol, of the 
edge of the cliff, abrupt, precipitous, with a drop 
of some ninety feet into that gray pall of mist to 
the sands below. 

And higher up still, above the mist itself a deep 
blue sky dotted with stars, and a full moon, pale 
and circled with luminous vapors. A gentle breeze 
had risen about half an hour ago and was blowing 
the mist hither and thither, striving to disperse it, 
but not yet succeeding in mastering it, for it only 
shifted restlessly to and fro, like the giant garments 
of titanic ghosts, revealing now a distant peep of 
sea, anon the interior of a colonnaded cavern, 
abode of mysterious ghouls, or again a nest of gulls 
in a deep crevice of the chalk: revealing and hiding 


301 


302 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


again: — a shroud dragged listlessly over monstrous 
dead things. 

Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had some difficulty 
in keeping to the footpath, which leads from the 
woods of Acol straight toward the cliffs. Unlike 
Adam Lambert, his eyes were unaccustomed to pierce 
the moist pall which hid the distance from his view. 

Strangely enough he had not cast aside the fan- 
tastic accoutrements of the French prince, and 
though these must have been as singularly uncom- 
fortable, as they were inappropriate, for a midnight 
walk, nevertheless he still wore the heavy peruke 
and dark mustache, broad-brimmed hat and black 
shade which were so characteristic of the mysterious 
personage. 

He had heard the church clock at Acol village 
strike half an hour after eleven and knew that the 
smith would already be waiting for him. 

The acrid smell of sea-weed struck forcibly now 
upon his nostrils. The grass beneath his feet had 
become more sparse and more coarse. The moisture 
which clung to his face had a taste of salt in it. 
Obviously he was quite close to the edge of the 
cliffs. 

The next moment and without any warning a 
black outline appeared in the moon-illumined density. 
It was Adam Lambert pacing up and down with 
the impatience of an imprisoned beast of prey. 

A second or two later the febrile hand of the 
smith had gripped Sir Marmaduke’s shoulder. 


THE PATH NEAR THE CLIFF 303 


“You have brought those proofs?” he queried 
hoarsely. 

His face was wet with the mist, and he had ap- 
parently oft wiped it with his hand or sleeve, for 
great streaks of dirt marked his cheeks and fore- 
head, giving him a curious satanic expression, 
whilst his short lank hair obviously roughed up by 
impatient fingers bristled above his square-built head 
like the coat of a shaggy dog. 

In absolute contrast to him, Sir Marmaduke 
looked wonderfully calm and tidy. In answer to 
the other man’s eager look of inquiry, he made pre- 
tense of fumbling in his pockets, as he said quietly: 

“ Yes ! all of them ! ” 

As if idly musing, he continued to walk along the 
path, whilst the smith firstly stooped to pick up a 
small lantern which he had obviously brought with 
him in order to examine the papern by its light, and 
then strode in the wake of Sir Marmaduke. 

The breeze was getting a better hold on the mist, 
and was tossing it about from sea to cliff and up- 
wards with more persistence and more vigor. 

The pale, cold moon glistened visibly on the moist 
atmosphere, and far below and far beyond weird 
streaks of shimmering silver edged the surface of 
the sea. The breeze itself had scarcely stirred the 
water, the soft sound of tiny billows lapping the 
outstanding boulders was wafted upwards as the 
tide drew in. 

The two men had reached the edge of the cliff. 
With a slight laugh, indicative of nervousness, Sir 


304 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


Marmaduke had quickly stepped back a t pace or 
two. 

46 1 have brought the proofs,” he said, as if wish- 
ing to conciliate a dangerous enemy, 44 we need not 
stand so near the edge, need we? ” 

But Adam Lambert shrugged his shoulders in 
token of contempt at the other’s cowardice. 

44 I’ll not harm thee,” he said, 44 an thou hast not 
lied to me. . . .” 

He deposited his lantern by the side of a heap of 
white chalk, which had, no doubt, been collected at 
some time or other by idle or childish hands, and 
stood close to the edge of the cliff. Sir Marmaduke 
now took his stand beside it, one foot placed higher 
than the other. Close to him Adam in a frenzy 
of restlessness had thrown himself down on the heap. 
Below them a drop of ninety feet to the sea-weed 
covered beach. 

44 Let me see the papers,” quoth Adam impa- 
tiently. 

44 Gently, gently, kind sir,” said de Chavasse 
lightly. 44 Did you think that you could dictate 
your own terms quite so easily? ” 

44 What dost thou mean ? ” queried the other. 

44 1 mean that I am about to place in your han s ds 
the proof that you are heir to a title and £15,000 
a year, but at the same time I wish to assure my- 
self that you will be pleasant over certain matters 
which concern me.” 

44 Have I not said that I would hold my tongue.” 

44 Of a truth you did say so my friend, and 


THE PATH NEAR THE CLIFF 305 

therefore, I am convinced that you will not refuse to 
give me a written promise to that effect.” 

“I cannot write,” said Adam moodily. 

“Oh! just your signature!” said de Chavasse 
pleasantly. “You can write your name?” 

“ Not well.” 

“ The initials A. and L. They would satisfy me.” 

“ Why dost thou want written promises,” ob- 
jected the smith, looking up with sullen wrath at 
Sir Marmaduke. “ Is not the word of an honest 
man sufficient for thee ? ” 

“ Quite sufficient,” rejoined de Chavasse blandly, 
“ those initials are a mere matter of form. You 
cannot object if your intentions are honest.” 

“ I do not object. Hast brought ink or paper? ” 

“ Yes, and the form to which you only need to 
affix your initials.” 

Sir Marmaduke now drew a packet of papers 
from the inner lining of his doublet. 

“ These are the proofs of your parentage,” he 
said lightly. 

Then he took out another single sheet of paper 
from his pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Lam- 
bert. 

“ Can you read it ? ” he asked. 

He stooped and picked up the lantern, whilst 
handing the paper to Adam. The smith took the 
document from him, and Sir Marmaduke held the 
lantern so that he might read. 

Adam Lambert was no scholar. The reading of 
printed matter was oft a difficulty to him, written 


306 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


characters were a vast deal more trouble, but sus- 
picion lurked in the smith’s mind, and though his 
very sinews ached with the desire to handle the 
proofs, he would not put his initials to any writing, 
which he did not fully comprehend. 

It was all done in a moment. Adam was absorbed 
in deciphering the contents of the paper. De Cha- 
vasse held the lantern up with one hand, but at such 
an angle that Lambert was obliged to step back in 
order to get its full light. 

Then with the other hand, the right, Sir Marma- 
duke drew a double-edged Italian knife from his 
girdle, and with a rapid and vigorous gesture, drove 
it straight between the smith’s .shoulder blades. 

Adam uttered a groan : 

“ My God ... I am . . .” 

Then he staggered and fell. 

Fell backwards down the edge of the cliff into the 
mist enveloped abyss below. 

Sir Marmaduke had fallen on one knee and his 
trembling fingers clutched at the thick short grass, 
sharp as the blade of a knife, to stop himself from 
swooning — from falling backwards in the wake of 
Adam the smith. 

A gust of wind wafted the mist upwards, cover- 
ing him with its humid embrace. But he remained 
quite still, crouching on his stomach now, his hands 
clutching the grass for support, whilst great drops 
of perspiration mingled with the moisture of the 
mist on his face. 

Anon he raised his head a little and turned to 


THE PATH NEAR THE CLIFF 307 

look at the edge of the cliff. On hands and knees 
like a gigantic reptile he crawled, then lay flat on 
the ground, on the extreme edge, his eyes peering 
down into those depths wherein floating vapors lolled 
and stirred, with subtle movements like spirits in un- 
rest. 

As far as the murderer’s eye could reach and 
could penetrate the density of the fog, white crag 
succeeded white crag, with innumerable projections 
which should have helped to toss a falling and inert 
mass as easily as if it had been an air bubble. 

Sir Marmaduke tried to penetrate the secrets 
which the gray and shifting veil still hid from his 
view. Beside him lay the Italian knife, its steely 
surface shimmering in the vaporous light, there 
where a dull and ruddy stain had not dimmed its 
brilliant polish. The murderer gazed at his tool 
and shuddered feebly. But he picked up the knife 
and mechanically wiped it in the grass, before he 
restored it to his belt. 

Then he gazed downwards again, straining his 
eyes to pierce the mist, his ears to hear a sound. 

But nothing came upwards from that mighty abyss 
save the now ' more distinct lapping of the billows 
round the boulders, for the tide was rapidly set- 
ting in. 

Down the white sides of the cliff the projections 
seemed ready to afford a foothold: bearing somewhat 
toward the right, the descent was not so abrupt 
as it was immediately in front. The chalk of a 
truth looked slimy and green, and might cause the 


308 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


unwary to trip, but there was that to see down be- 
low and that to do, which would make any danger 
of a fall well worth the risking. 

Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse slowly rose to his 
feet. His knees were still shaking under him, and 
there was a nervous tremor in his jaw and in his 
wrists which he tried vainly to conquer. 

Nevertheless he managed to readjust his clothes, 
his peruke, his broad-brimmed hat. The papers 
he slipped back into his pocket together with the 
black silk shade and false mustache, then, with the 
lantern in his left hand he took the first steps to- 
wards the perilous descent. 

There was something down below that he must 
see, something that he wished to do. 

He walked sideways at times, bent nearly double, 
looking like some gigantic and unwieldy crab, as 
the feeble rays of the mist-hidden moon caught his 
rounded back in its cloth doublet of a dull reddish 
hue. At other times he was forced to sit, and to 
work his way downwards with his hands and heels, 
tearing his clothes, bruising his elbows and his shoul- 
ders against the projections of the titanic masonry. 
Lumps of chalk detached themselves from beneath 
and around him and slipped down the precipitous 
sides in advance of him, with a dull reverberating 
sound which seemed to rouse the echoes of this si- 
lent night. 

The descent seemed interminable. His flesh ached, 
his sinews creaked, his senses reeled with the pain, 
the mind-agony, the horror of it all. 


THE PATH NEAR THE CLIFF 309 

At last he caught a glimmer of the wet sand, less 
than ten feet below. He had just landed on a bit of 
white table-land wantonly carved in the naked cliff. 
The rough gradients which up to now had guided 
him in his descent ceased abruptly. Behind him 
the cliff rose upwards, in front and to his right and 
left a concave wall, straight down to the beach. 

Exhausted and half-paralyzed, de Chavas.se per- 
force had to throw himself down these last ten feet, 
hardly pausing to think whether his head would or 
would not come in violent contact with one of the 
chalk boulders which stand out here and there in the 
flat sandy beach. 

He threw down the lantern first, which was ex- 
tinguished as it fell. Then he took the final jump, 
and soon lay half unconscious, numbed and aching 
in every limb in the wet sand. 

Anon he tried to move. His limbs were painful, 
his shoulders ached, and he had some difficulty in 
struggling to his feet. An unusually large boulder 
close by afforded a resting place. He reached it 
and sat down. His head was still swimming but his 
limbs were apparently sound. He sat quietly for 
awhile, recouping his strength, gathering his wan- 
dering senses. The lantern lay close to his feet, 
extinguished but not broken. 

He groped for his tinder-box, and having found 
it, proceeded to relight the tiny tallow dip. It was 
a difficult proceeding for the tinder was damp, and 
the breeze, though very slight in this hollow portion 


310 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


of the cliffs, nevertheless was an enemy to a trembling 
little flame. 

But Sir Marmaduke noted with satisfaction that 
his nerves were already under his control. He suc- 
ceeded in relighting the lantern, which he could not 
have done if his hands had been as unsteady as they 
were awhile ago. 

He rose once more to his feet, stamped them 
against the boulders, stretched out his arms, giving 
his elbows and shoulders full play. Mayhap he had 
spent a quarter of an hour thus resting since that 
final jump, mayhap it had been an hour or two: he 
could not say for time had ceased to be. 

But the mist had penetrated to his very bones 
and he did not remember ever having felt quite so 
cold. 

Now he seized his lantern and began his search, 
trying to ascertain the exact position of the portion 
of the cliff’s edge where he and Lambert the smith 
had been standing a while ago. 

It was not a difficult matter, nor was the search 
a long one. Soon he saw a huddled mass lying in 
the sand. 

He went up to it and placed the lantern down 
upon a boulder. 

Horror had entirely left him. The crisis of terror 
at his own fell deed had been terrible but brief 
His was not a nature to shrink from unpleasant 
sights, nor at these times did men have cause to 
recoil from contact with the dead. 


THE PATH NEAR THE CLIFF 311 


In the murderer’s heart there was no real remorse 
for the crime which he had committed. 

“Bah! why did the fool get in my way?” was 
the first mental comment which he made when he 
caught sight of Lambert’s body. 

Then with a final shrug of the shoulders he dis- 
missed pity, horror or remorse entirely from his 
thoughts. 

What he now did was to raise the smith’s body 
from the ground and to strip it of its clothing. 
’Twas a grim task, on which his chroniclers have 
never cared to dwell. His purpose was fixed. He 
had planned and thought it all out minutely, and 
he was surely not the man to flinch at the execution 
of a project once he had conceived it. 

The death of Adam Lambert should serve a 
double purpose : the silencing of an avowed enemy 
and the wiping out of the personality of Prince 
Amede d’Orleans. 

The latter was as important as the first. It 
would facilitate the realizing of the fortune and, 
above all, clear the way for Sir Marmaduke’s future 
life. 

Therefore, however gruesome the task, which was 
necessary in order to attain that great goal, the 
schemer accomplished it, with set teeth and an un- 
wavering hand. 

What he did do on that lonely fog-ridden beach 
and in the silence of that dank and misty night, was 
to dress up the body of Adam Lambert, the smith, 
in the fantastic clothing of Prince Amede d’Orleans : 


312 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


the red cloth doublet, the lace collars and cuffs, the 
bunches of ribbon at knee and waist, and the black 
silk shade over the left eye. All he omitted were 
the peruke and the false mustache. 

Having accomplished this work, he himself donned 
the clothes of Adam Lambert. 

This part of his task being done, he had to rest 
for a while. J Tis no easy matter to undress and re- 
dress an inert mass. 

The smith, dressed in the elaborate accouterments 
of the mysterious French prince, now lay face up- 
wards on the sand. 

The tide was rapidly setting in. In less than half 
an hour it would reach this portion of the beach. 

Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, however, had not 
yet accomplished all that he meant to do. He knew 
that the sea-waves had a habit of returning that 
which they took away. Therefore, his purpose was 
not fully accomplished when he had dressed the dead 
smith in the clothes of the Orleans prince. Else had 
he wished it, he could have consigned his victim to 
the tide. 

But Adam — dead — had now to play a part in the 
grim comedy which Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had 
designed for his own safety, and the more assured 
success of all his frauds and plans. 

Therefore, after a brief rest the murderer set to 
work again. A more grim task yet ! one from which 
of a truth more than one evil-doer would recoil. 

Not so this bold schemer, this mad worshiper of 
money and of self. Everything! anything for the 


THE PATH NEAR THE CLIFF 313 

safety of Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, for the peace- 
ful possession of £500,000. 

Everything ! Even the desecration of the dead ! 

The murderer was powerful, and there is a 
strength which madness gives. Heavy boulders 
pushed by vigorous arms had to help in the mon- 
strous deed! 

Heavy boulders thrown and rolled over the face 
of the dead, so as to obliterate all identity! 

Nay! had a sound now disturbed the silence of 
this awesome night, surely it had been the laughter 
of demons aghast at such a deed! 

The moon indeed hid her face, retreating once 
more behind the veils of mist. The breeze itself was 
lulled and the fog gathered itself together and 
wrapped the unavowable horrors of the night in a 
gray and ghoul-like shroud. 

Madness lurked in the eyes of the sacrilegious 
murderer. Madness which helped him not only to 
carry his grim task to the end, but having accom- 
plished it to see that it was well done. 

And his hand did not tremble, as he raised the 
lantern and looked down on that which had once 
been Adam Lambert the smith. 

Nay, had those laughing demons looked on it, 
they would have veiled their face in awe. 

The gentle wavelets of the torpid tide were creep- 
ing round that thing in red doublet and breeches, in 
high top boots, lace cuffs and collar. 

Sir Marmaduke looked down calmly upon his 
work, and did not even shudder with horror. 


314 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


Madness had been upon him and had numbed his 
brain. 

But the elemental instinct of self-preservation 
whispered to him that his work was well done. 

When the sea gave up the dead, only the clothes, 
the doublet, the ribbands, the lace, the black shade 
mayhap would reveal his identity, as the mysterious 
French prince who for a brief while had lodged in a 
cottage at Acol. 

But the face was unrecognizable. 


PART IV 


iv J - . * 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

THE DAY AFTER 

rTlHE feeling which prevailed in Thanet with re- 
gard to the murder of the mysterious foreigner 
on the sands of Epple Bay was chiefly one of sullen 
resentment. 

Here was a man who had come from goodness 
knows where, whose strange wanderings and secret 
appearances in the neighborhood had oft roused the 
anger of the village folk, just as his fantastic 
clothes, his silken doublet and be-frilled shirt had 
excited their scorn ; here was a man, I say, who 
came from nowhere, and now he chose — the yokels 
of the neighborhood declared it that he chose — to 
make his exit out of the world in as weird a manner 
as he had effected his entrance into this remote and 
law-abiding little island. 

The farmhands and laborers who dwelt in the 
cottages dotted about around St. Nicholas-at-Wade, 
Epple or Acol were really angry with the stranger 
for allowing himself to be murdered on their shores. 
Thanet itself had up to now enjoyed a fair reputa- 
tion for orderliness and temperance, and that one 
of her inhabitants should have been tempted to do 
315 


316 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWR 


away with that interloping foreigner in such a vio- 
lent manner was obviously the fault of that for- 
eigner himself. 

The watches had found him on the sands at low 
tide. One of them walking along the brow of the 
cliff had seen the dark object lying prone amongst 
the boulders, a black mass in the midst of the white- 
ness of the chalk. 

The whole thing was shocking, no doubt, grue- 
some in the extreme, but the mystery which sur- 
rounded this strange death had roused ire rather 
than horror. 

Of course the news had traveled slowly from cot- 
tage to cottage, although Petty Constable Pyot, 
who resided at St. Nicholas, had immediately ap- 
prised Squire Boatfield and Sir Marmaduke de Cha- 
vasse of the awesome discovery made by the watches 
on the sands of Epple Bay. 

Squire Boatfield was major-general of the dis- 
trict and rode over from Sarre directly he heard the 
news. The body in the meanwhile had been placed 
under the shelter of one of the titanic caves which 
giant hands have carved in the acclivities of the 
chalk. Squire Boatfield ordered it to be removed. 
It was not fitting that birds of prey should be al- 
lowed to peck at the dead, nor that some unusually 
high tide should once more carry him out to sea, 
ere his murderer had been brought to justice. 

Therefore, the foreigner with the high-sounding 
name was conveyed by the watches at the Squire’s 


THE DAY AFTER 317 

bidding to the cottage of the Lamberts over at 
Acol, the only place in Thanet which he had ever 
called his home. 

The old Quakeress, wrathful and sullen, had 
scarce understood what the whole pother was about. 
She was hard of hearing, and Petty Constable Pyot 
was at great pains to explain to her that by the 
major-general’s orders the body of the murdered 
man should be laid decently under shelter, until such 
time as proper burial could be arranged for it. 

Fortunately before the small cortege bearing the 
gruesome burden had arrived at the cottage, young 
Richard Lambert had succeeded in making the old 
woman understand what was expected of her. 

Even then she flatly and obstinately refused to 
have the stranger brought into her house. 

44 He was a heathen,” she declared emphatically, 
44 his soul hath mayhap gone to hell. His thoughts 
were evil, and God had him not in His keeping. 
’Tis not fit that the mortal hulk of a damned soul 
should pollute the saintliness of mine own abode.” 

Pyot thought that the old woman was raving, but 
Master Lambert very peremptorily forbade him to 
interfere with her. The young man, though quite 
calm, looked dangerous — so thought the petty con- 
stable — and between them, the old Quakeress and 
the young student defied the constables and the 
watches and barred the cottage to the entrance of 
the dead. 

Unfortunately the smith was from home. Pyot 


318 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


thought that the latter had been more reasonable, 
that he would have understood the weight of author- 
ity, and also of seemliness, which was of equally 
grave importance. 

There was a good deal of parleying before it was 
finally decided to place the body in the forge, which 
was a wooden lean-to, resting against the north 
wall of the cottage. There was no direct access 
from the cottage to the forge, and old Mistress 
Lambert seemed satisfied that the foreigner should 
rest there, at any rate until the smith came home, 
when, mayhap, he would decide otherwise. 

At the instance of the petty constable she even 
brought out a sheet, which smelt sweetly of lavender, 
and gave it to the watchmen, so that they might 
decently cover up the dead ; she also gave them three 
elm chairs on which to lay him down. 

Across those three chairs the body now lay, cov- 
ered over with the lavender-scented sheet, in the cor- 
ner of the blacksmith’s forge, over by the furnace. 
A watchman stayed beside it, to ward off sacrilege : 
anyone who desired could come, and could — if his 
nerves were strong enough — view the body and state 
if, indeed, it was that of the foreigner who all 
through last summer had haunted the woods and 
park of Acol. 

Of a truth there was no doubt at all as to the 
identity of the dead. His fantastic clothes were 
unmistakable. Many there were who had seen him 
wandering in the woods of nights, and several could 
swear to the black silk shade and the broad-brimmed 


THE DAY AFTER 


319 


hat which the watchmen had found — high and dry — 
on a chalk boulder close to where the body lay. 

Mistress Lambert had refused to look on the dead. 
’Twas, of course, no fit sight for females, and the 
constable had not insisted thereon: but she knew 
the black silk shade again, and young Master Lam- 
bert had caught sight of the murdered man’s legs 
and feet, and had thereupon recognized the breeches 
and the quaint boots with their overwide tops filled 
with frills of lace. 

Master Hymn of Praise Busy, too, though unwill- 
ing to see a corpse, thought it his duty to help the 
law in investigating this mysterious crime. He had 
oft seen the foreigner of nights in the park, and 
never doubted for a moment that the body which lay 
across the elm chairs in the smith’s forge was indeed 
that of the stranger. 

Squire Boatfield was now quite satisfied that the 
identity of the victim was firmly established, and 
anon he did his best — being a humane man — to ob- 
tain Christian burial for the stranger. After some 
demur, the parson at Minster declared himself will- 
ing to do the pious deed. 

Heathen or not, ’twas not for Christian folk to 
pass judgment on him who no longer now could give 
an explanation of his own mysterious doings, and 
had of a truth carried his secrets with him in silence 
to the grave. 

Was it not strange that anyone should have 
risked the gallows for the sake of putting out of the 


320 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


way a man who of a surety was not worth powder 
or shot? 

And the nerve and strength which the murderer 
had shown ! . displacing great boulders with 

which to batter in his victim’s face so that not even 
his own kith and kin could recognize that now! 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


AFTERWARDS 

C IR MARMADUKE DE CHAVASSE cursed the 
^ weather and cursed himself for being a fool. 

He had started from Acol Court on horseback, 
riding an old nag, for the roads were heavy with 
mud, and the short cut through the woods quite 
impassable. 

The icy downpour beat against his face and 
lashed the poor mare’s ear and mane until she tossed 
her head about blindly and impatiently, scarce heed- 
ing where she placed her feet. The rider’s cloak 
was already soaked through, and soon even his shirt 
clung dank and cold to his aching back: the bridle 
was slippery with the wet, and his numbed fingers 
could hardly feel its resistance as the mare went 
stumbling on her way. 

Beside horse and rider, Master Hymn of Praise 
Busy and Master Courage Toogood walked ankle- 
deep in mud — one on each side of the mare, and 
lantern in hand, for the shades of evening would 
have drawn in ere the return journey could be 
undertaken. The two men had taken off their shoes 
and stockings and had slung them over their shoul- 
ders, for ’twas best to walk barefoot than to feel 
the icy moisture soaking through leather and 
worsted. 


321 


322 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


It was then close on two o’clock of an unusually 
bleak November afternoon. The winds of Heaven, 
which of a truth do oft use the isle of Thanet as 
a meeting place, wherein to discuss the mischief 
which they severally intend to accomplish in sundry 
quarters later on, had been exceptionally active this 
day. The Southwesterly hurricane had brought a 
deluge of rain with it a couple of hours ago, then 
— satisfied with this prowess — had handed the down- 
pour over to his brother of the Northeast, who, 
breathing on it with his icy breath, had soon con- 
verted it into sleet: whereupon he turned his back 
on the mainland altogether, and wandered out to- 
wards the ocean, determined to worry the deep-sea 
fishermen who were out with their nets: but not be- 
fore he had deputed his brother of the Northwest to 
marshal his army of snow-laden cloud on the firma- 
ment. 

This the Northwest was over-ready to do, and in 
answer to his whim a leaden, inky pall now lay over 
Thanet, whilst the gale continued its mighty, wan- 
ton frolic, lashing the sleet against the tiny window- 
panes of the cottages, or sending it down the chim- 
neys, onto the burning logs below, causing them 
to splutter and to hiss ere they changed their glow 
to black and smoking embers. 

’Twere impossible to imagine a more discomfort- 
ing atmosphere in which to be abroad : yet Sir Mar- 
maduke de Chavasse was trudging through the mire, 
and getting wet to the skin, even when he might 


AFTERWARDS 


just as well be sitting beside the fire in the with- 
drawing room at the Court. 

He was on his way to the smith’s forge at Acol 
and had ordered his serving men to accompany him 
thither: and of a truth neither of them were loth 
to go. They cared naught about the weather, and 
the excitement which centered round the Quakeress’ 
cottage at Acol more than counterbalanced the dis- 
comfort of a tramp through the mud. 

A rumor had reached the Court that the funeral 
of the murdered man would, mayhap, take place this 
day, and Master Busy would not have missed such 
an event for the world, not though the roads lay 
thick with snow and the drifts rendered progress 
impossible to all save to the keenest enthusiast. He 
for one was glad enough that his master had seemed 
so unaccountably anxious for the company of his 
own serving men. Sir Marmaduke had ever been 
overfond of wandering about the lonely woods of 
Thanet alone. 

But since that gruesome murder on the beach 
forty-eight hours ago and more, both the quality 
and the yokels preferred to venture abroad in com- 
pany. 

At the same time neither Master Busy nor young 
Courage Toogood could imagine why Sir Marma- 
duke de Chavasse should endure such amazing dis- 
comfort in order to attend the funeral of an obscure 
adventurer, who of a truth was as naught to him. 

Nor, if the truth were known, could Sir Marma- 


324 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


duke himself have accounted for his presence here 
on this lonely road, and on one of the most dismal, 
bleak and unpleasant afternoons that had ever been 
experienced in Thanet of late. 

He should at this moment have been on the other 
side of the North Sea. The most elemental pru- 
dence should indeed have counseled an immediate 
journey to Amsterdam and a prompt negotiation of 
all marketable securities which Lady Sue Aldmarshe 
had placed in his hands. 

Yet twice twenty-four hours had gone by since 
that awful night, when, having finally relinquished 
his victim to the embrace of the tide, he had picked 
his way up the chalk cliffs and through the terror- 
haunted woods to his own room in Acol Court. 

He should have left for abroad the next day, ere 
the news of the discovery of a mysterious murder 
had reached the precincts of his own park. But he 
had remained in England. Something seemed to 
have rooted him to the spot, something to be holding 
him back whenever he was ready to flee. 

At first it had been a mere desire to know. On 
the morning following his crime he made a vigorous 
effort to rally his scattered senses, to walk, to move, 
and to breathe as if nothing had happened, as if 
nothing lay out there on the sands of Epple high 
and dry now, for the tide would have gone out. 

Whether he had slept or not since the moment 
when he had crept stealthily into his own house, si- 
lently as the bird of prey when returning to its nest 
* — he could not have said. Undoubtedly he had 


AFTERWARDS 


325 


stripped off the dead man’s clothes, the rough shirt 
and cord breeches which had belonged to Lambert 
the smith. Undoubtedly, too, he had made a bun- 
dle of these things, hiding them in a dark recess at 
the bottom of an old oak cupboard which stood in 
his room. With these clothes he had placed the 
leather wallet which contained securities worth half 
a million of solid money. 

All this he had done, preparatory to destroying 
the clothes by fire, and to converting the securities 
into money abroad. After that he had thrown him- 
self on the bed, without thought, without sensations 
save those of bodily ache and of numbing fatigue. 

Vaguely, as the morning roused him to conscious- 
ness, he realized that he must leave for Dover as 
soon as may be and cross over to France by the 
first packet available, or, better still, by boat spe- 
cially chartered. And yet, when anon he rose and 
dressed, he felt at once that he would not go just 
yet : that he could not go, until certain queries 
which had formed in his brain had been answered 
by events. 

How soon would the watches find the body? Hav- 
ing found it, what would they do? Would the body 
be immediately identified by the clothes upon it? or 
would doubt on that score arise in the minds of the 
neighboring folk? Would the disappearance of 
Adam Lambert be known at once and commented 
upon in connection with the crime? 

Curiosity soon became an obsession ; he wandered 
down into the hall where the serving wench was ply- 


326 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


ing her duster. He searched her face, wondering if 
she had heard the news. 

The mist of the night had yielded to an icy driz- 
zle, but Sir Marmaduke could not remain within. 
His footsteps guided him in the direction of Acol, 
on towards Epple Bay. On the path which leads 
to the edge of the cliffs he met the watches who 
were tramping on towards the beach. 

The men saluted him and went on their way, but 
he turned and fled as quickly as he dared. 

In the afternoon Master Busy brought the news 
down from Prospect Inn. The body of the man who 
had called himself a French prince had been found 
murdered and shockingly mutilated on the sands at 
Epple. Sir Marmaduke was vastly interested. He, 
usually so reserved and ill-humored with his serv- 
ants, had kept Hymn-of-Praise in close converse for 
nigh upon an hour, asking many questions about 
the crime, about the petty constables’ action in the 
matter and the comments made by the village folk. 

At the same time he gave strict injunctions to 
Master Busy not to breathe a word of the gruesome 
subject to the ladies, nor yet to the serving wench: 
’twas not a matter fit for women’s ears. 

Sir Marmaduke then bade his butler push on as 
far as Acol, to glean further information about the 
mysterious event. 

That evening he collected all the clothes which 
had belonged to Lambert the smith, and wrapping 
up the leathern wallet with them which contained 


AFTERWARDS 


327 

the securities, he carried this bundle to the lonely 
pavilion on the outskirts of the park. 

He was not yet ready to go abroad. 

Master Busy returned from his visit to Acol full 
of what he had seen. He had been allowed to view 
the body, and to swear before Squire Boatfield that 
he recognized the clothes as being those usually 
worn by the mysterious foreigner who used to haunt 
the woods and park of Acol all last summer. 

Hymn of Praise had his full meed of pleasure 
that evening, and the next day, too, for Sir Mar- 
maduke seemed never tired of hearing him recount 
all the gossip which obtained at Acol and at St, 
Nicholas : the surmises as to the motive of the hor- 
rible crime, the talk about the tranger and his do- 
ings, the resentment caused by his weird demise, and 
the conjectures as to what could have led a mis- 
creant to do away with so insignificant a personage. 

All that day — the second since the crime — Sir 
Marmaduke still lingered in Thanet. Prudence 
whispered urgent counsels that he should go, and 
yet he stayed, watching the progress of events with 
that same morbid and tenacious curiosity. 

And now it was the thought of what folk would 
say when they heard that Adam Lambert had dis- 
appeared and was of a truth not returning home, 
which kept Sir Marmaduke still lingering in Eng- 
land. 

That and the unexplainable enigma which ever 
confronts the searcher of human motives: the over- 


328 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


whelming 1 desire of the murderer to look once again 
upon his victim. 

Master Busy had on that second morning brought 
home the news from Acol, that Squire Boatfield had 
caused a rough deal coffin to be made by the vil- 
lage carpenter at the expense of the county, and 
that mayhap the stranger would be laid therein 
this very afternoon and conveyed down to Minster, 
where he would be accorded Christian burial. 

Then Sir Marmaduke realized that it would be 
impossible for him to leave England until after he 
had gazed once more on the dead body of the smith. 

After that he would go. He would shake the 
sand of Thanet from his heels forever. 

When he learnt all that he wished to know he 
would be free from the present feeling of terrible 
obsession which paralyzed his movements to the ex- 
tent of endangering his own safety. 

He was bound to look upon his victim once again: 
an unexplainable and titanic force compelled him 
to that. Mayhap that same force would enable 
him to keep his nerves under control when, pres- 
ently, he would be face to face with the dead. 

Face to face? . . . Good God! 

Yet neither fear nor remorse haunted him. It 
was only curiosity, and at one thought, a nameless* 
horror! . . . Not at the thought of murder 

there he had no compunction, but at that 
of the terrible deed which from instinct of self-pro- 
tection had perforce to succeed the graver crime. 

The weight of those chalk boulders seemed still 


AFTERWARDS 


329 


to weigh against the muscles of his back. He felt 
that Sisyphus-like he was forever rolling, rolling a 
gigantic stone which, failing of its purpose — re- 
coiled on him, rolling back down a precipitous in- 
cline, and crushing him beneath its weight 
only to release him again ... to leave him 
free to endure the same torture over and over again 
and yet again . . . forever the same 

weight . . . forever the self-same, intolerable 

agony. . . . 


CHAPTER XXXV 


THE SMITH’S FORGE 

T T P to the hour of his departure from Acol 
Court, Sir Marmaduke had been convinced 
that neither his sister-in-law nor Lady Sue had 
heard of the news which had set whole Thanet in 
commotion. Acol Court lies very isolated, well off 
the main Canterbury Road, and just for two days 
and a half Master Hymn of Praise Busy had con- 
trived to hold his tongue. 

Most of the village gossips, too, met at the local 
public bars, and had had up to now no time to wan- 
der as far as the Court, nor any reason to do so, 
seeing that Master Busy was always to be found 
at Prospect Inn and always ready to discuss the 
mystery in all its bearings, with anyone who would 
share a pint of ale with him. 

Sir Marmaduke had taken jealous care only to 
meet the ladies at meal-time, and under penalty of 
immediate dismissal had forbidden Hymn of Praise 
to speak to the serving wench on the all-absorbing 
topic. 

So far Master Busy had obeyed, but at the last 
moment, just before starting for Acol village, Sir 
Marmaduke had caught sight of Mistress Charity 
talking to the stableman in the yard. Something 
330 


331 


THE SMITH’S FORGE 

in the wench’s eyes told him — with absolute cer- 
tainty that she had just heard of the murder. 

That morbid and tenacious curiosity once more 
got hold of him. He would have given all he pos- 
sessed at this moment — the entire fruits of his crime 
mayhap — to know what that ignorant girl thought 
of it all, and it caused him acute, almost physical 
pain, to refrain from questioning her. 

There was enough of the sense of self-protection 
in him, however, to check himself from betraying 
such extraordinary interest in the matter: but he 
turned on his heel and went quickly back to the 
house. He wanted to catch sight of Editha’s face, 
if only for a moment: he wanted to see fir himself, 
then and there, if she had also heard the news. 

As he entered the hall, she was coming down the 
stairs. She had on her cloak and hood as if pre- 
paring to go out. Their eyes met and he saw that 
she knew. 

Knew what? He broke into a loud and fierce 
laugh as he met her wildly questioning gaze. There 
was a look almost of madness in the hopeless puz- 
zlement of her expression. 

Of course Editha must be hopelessly puzzled. 
The very thought of her vague conjecturings had 
caused him to laugh as maniacs laugh at times. 

The mysterious French prince had been found 
on the sands murdered and mutilated. 

But then . 

Still laughing, Sir Marmaduke once more turned, 
running away from the house now and never paus- 


332 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

ing until his foot had touched the stirrup and his 
fingers were entangled in the damp mane of the 
mare. Even whilst he settled himself into the saddle 
as comfortably as he could, the grim humor of 
Editha’s bewilderment caused him to laugh within 
himself. 

The nag stepped slowly along in the mud at first, 
then broke into a short trot. The two serving men 
had started on ahead with their lanthorns, they 
would, of course, be walking all the way. 

The icy rain mingled with tiny flakes of snow was 
insufferably cutting and paralyzing: yet Sir Mar- 
maduke scarcely heeded it, until the mare became 
unpleasantly uncertain in her gait. Once she 
stumbled and nearly pitched her rider forward into 
the mud: whereupon, lashing into her, he paid more 
heed to her doings. 

Once just past the cross road toward St. Nicholas 
he all but turned his horse’s head back towards Acol 
Court. It seemed as if he must find out now at once 
whether Editha had spoken to Lady Sue and what 
the young girl had done and said when she heard, in 
effect, that her husband had been murdered. 

Nothing but the fear of missing the last look at 
the body of Adam Lambert ere the lid of the coffin 
was nailed down stopped him from returning home- 
wards. 

Anon he came upon Busy and Toogood painfully 
trudging in the mire, and singing lustily to keep 
themselves cheerful and warm. 

Sir Marmaduke drew the mare in, so as to keep 


THE SMITH’S FORGE 333 

pace with his men. On the whole the road had been 
more lonely than he liked and he was glad of com- 
pany. 

Outside the Lamberts’ cottage a small crowd had 
collected. From the crest of the hill the tiny bell 
of Acol church struck the hour of two. 

Squire Boatfield had ridden over from Sarre, and 
Sir Marmaduke — as he dismounted — caught sight 
of the heels and crupper of the Squire’s well-known 
cob. The little crowd had gathered in the imme- 
diate neighborhood of the forge, and de Chavasse, 
from where he now stood, could not see the entrance 
of the lean-to, only the blank side wall of the shed, 
and the front of the Lamberts’ cottage, the doors 
and windows of which were hermetically closed. 

Up against the angle formed by the wall of the 
forge and that of the cottage, the enterprising land- 
lord of the local inn had erected a small trestle 
table, from behind which he was dispensing spiced 
ale, and bottled Spanish wines. 

Squire Boatfield was standing beside that impro- 
vised bar, and at sight of Sir Marmaduke he put 
down the pewter mug which he was in the act of 
conveying to his lips, and came forward to greet 
his friend. 

“ What is the pother about this foreigner, eh, 
Boatfield?” queried de Chavasse with gruff good- 
nature as he shook hands with the Squire and al- 
lowed himself to be led towards that tempting array 
of bottles and mugs on the trestle table. 

The yokels who were assembled at the entrance of 


334 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


the forge turned to gaze with some curiosity at the 
Squire of Acol. De Chavasse was not often seen 
even in this village : he seldom went beyond the 
boundary of his own park. 

All the men touched their forelock with deferen- 
tial respect. Master Jeremy Mounce humbly whis- 
pered a query as to what His Honor would conde- 
scend to take. 

Sir Marmaduke desired a mug of buttered ale or 
of lamb’s wool, which Master Mounce soon held 
ready for him. He emptied the mug at one draught. 
The spiced liquor went coursing through his body, 
and he felt better and more sure of himself. He de- 
sired a second mug. 

“ With more substance in it, Master Landlord,” 
he said pleasantly. “Nay, man! ye are not giving 
milk to children, but something warm to cheer a 
man’s inside.” 

“ I have a half bottle of brandy here, good Sir 
Marmaduke,” suggested Master Mounce with some 
diffidence, for brandy was an over-expensive com- 
modity which not many Kentish Squires cared to 
afford. 

“ Brandy, of course, good master ! ” quoth de 
Chavasse lustily, “ brandy is the nectar of the gods. 
Here ! ” he added, drawing a piece of gold from a 
tiny pocket concealed in the lining of his doublet, 
“ will this pay for thy half-bottle of nectar.” 

“ Over well, good Sir Marmaduke,” said Master 
Mounce, as he stooped to the ground. From un- 
derneath the table he now drew forth a glass and a 


THE SMITH’S FORGE 335 

bottle: the latter he uncorked with slow and delib- 
erate care, and then filled the glass with its con- 
tents, whilst Sir Marmaduke watched him with im- 
patient eyes. 

44 Will you join me, Squire?” asked de Chavasse, 
as he lifted the small tumbler and gazed with 
marked appreciation at the glistening and trans- 
parent liquid. 

44 Nay, thanks,” replied Boatfield with a laugh, 
44 1 care naught for these foreign decoctions. An- 
other mug, or even two, of buttered ale good land- 
lord,” he added, turning to Master Mounce. 

In the meanwhile petty constable Pyot had stood 
respectfully at attention ready to relate for the 
hundredth time, mayhap, all that he knew and all 
that he meant to know about the mysterious crime. 

Sir Marmaduke would of a surety ask many ques- 
tions, for it was passing strange that he had taken 
but little outward interest in the matter up to now. 

44 Well, Pyot,” he now said, beckoning to the man 
to approach, 44 tell us what you know. By Gad, ’tis 
not often we indulge in a genuine murder in Thanet ! 
Where was it done? Not on my land, I hope.” 

44 The watches found the body on the beach, your 
Honor,” replied Pyot, 44 the head was mutilated past 
all recognition . . . the heavy chalk boulders, 

your Honor . . . and a determined maniac 

methinks, sir, who wanted revenge against a personal 
enemy. . . . Else how to account for such a 

brutal act? ...” 

44 1 suppose,” quoth Sir Marmaduke lightly, as 


33 6 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


he sipped the brandy, “ that the identity of the man 
has been quite absolutely determined.” 

“ Aye! aye! your Honor,” rejoined Pyot gravely, 
“ the opinion of all those who have seen the body is 
that it is that of a foreigner . . . Prince 

of Orleans he called himself, who has been lodging 
these past months at this place here ! ” 

And the petty constable gave a quick nod in the 
direction of the cottage. 

“ Ah ! I know but little about him,” now said Sir 
Marmaduke, turning to speak to Squire Boatfield, 
“ although he lived here, on what is my own prop- 
erty, and haunted my park, too ... so I’ve 
been told. There was a good deal of talk about 
him among the wenches in the village.” 

“ Aye ! I had heard all about that Prince,” said 
Squire Boatfield meditatively, “ lodging in this cot- 
tage . . . ’twas passing strange.” 

“ He was a curious sort of man, your Honor,” 
here interposed Pyot. “ We got what information 
about him that we could, seeing that the smith is 
from home, and that Mistress Lambert, his aunt, 
I think, is hard of hearing, and gave us many 
crooked answers. But she told us that the stranger 
paid for his lodging regularly, and would arrive at 
the cottage unawares of an evening and stay part 
of the night . . . then he would go off again 

at cock-crow, and depart she knew not whither.” 

The man paused in his narrative. Something ap- 
parently had caused Sir Marmaduke to turn giddy. 


THE SMITH’S FORGE 337 

He tugged at his neck bands and his hand fell 
heavily against the trestle-table. 

“ Nay! ’tis nothing,” he said with a harsh laugh 
as Master Mounce with an ejaculation of deep con- 
cern ran round to him with a chair, whilst Squire 
Boatfield quickly put out an arm as if he were afraid 
that his friend would fall. “ ’Tis nothing,” he re- 
peated, “ the tramp in the cold, then this heady 
draught. ... I am well I assure you.” 

He drank half a glass of brandy at a draught, 
and now the hand which replaced the glass upon the 
table had not the slightest tremor in it. 

“ ’Tis all vastly interesting,” he remarked lightly. 
“Have you seen the body, Boatfield?” 

“ Aye ! aye ! ” quoth the Squire, speaking with 
obvious reluctance, for he hated this gruesome sub- 
ject. “ ’Tis no pleasant sight. And were I in your 
shoes de Chavasse, I would not go in there,” and 
he nodded significantly towards the forge. 

“Nay! ’tis my duty as a magistrate,” said Sir 
Marmaduke airily. 

He had to steady himself against the table again 
for a moment or two, ere he turned his back on the 
hospitable board, and started to walk round to- 
wards the forge: no doubt the shaking of his knees 
was attributable to the strong liquor which he had 
consumed. 

The little crowd parted and dispersed at his ap- 
proach. The lean-to wherein Adam Lambert was 
wont to do his work consisted of four walls, one of 
which was that of the cottage, whilst the other im- 


338 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


mediately facing it, had a wide opening which formed 
the only entrance to the shed. A man standing in 
that entrance would have the furnace on his left: 
and now in addition to that furnace also the three 
elm chairs, whereon rested a rough deal case, with- 
out a lid, but partly covered with a sheet. 

To anyone coming from the outside, this angle 
of the forge would always seem weird and even mys- 
terious even when the furnace was blazing and the 
sparks flying from the anvil, beneath the smith’s 
powerful blows, ,or when — as at present — the 
fires were extinguished and this part of the shed, 
innocent of windows, was in absolute darkness. 

Sir Marmaduke paused a moment under the lin- 
tel which dominated the broad entrance. His eyes 
had some difficulty in penetrating the density which 
seemed drawn across the place on his left like some 
ink-smeared and opaque curtain. 

The men assembled outside, watched him from a 
distance with silent respect. In these days the fact 
of a gentleman drinking more liquor than was good 
for him was certes not to his discredit. 

The fact that Sir Marmaduke seemed to sway 
visibly on his legs, as he thus stood for a moment 
outlined against the dark interior beyond, roused 
no astonishment in the minds of those who saw him. 

Presently he turned deliberately to his left and 
the next moment his figure was merged in the gloom. 

Round the angle of the wall Squire Boatfield was 
still standing, sipping buttered ale. 

Less than two minutes later, Sir Marmaduke re- 


THE SMITH’S FORGE 


339 


appeared in the doorway. His face was a curious 
color, and there were beads of perspiration on his 
forehead, and as he came forward he would have 
fallen, had not one of the men stepped quickly up 
to him and offered a steadying arm. But there 
was nothing strange in that. 

The sight of that which lay in Adam Lambert’s 
forge had unmanned a good many ere this. 

“ I am inclined to believe, my good Boatfield,” 
quoth Sir Marmaduke, as he went back to the 
trestle-table, and poured himself out another half- 
glass full of brandy, “ I am inclined to believe that 
when you advised me not to go in there, you spoke 
words of wisdom which I had done well to follow.” 


f 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


THE GIBX-WIFE 

B UT the effort of the past few moments had been 
almost more than Marmaduke de Chavasse 
could bear. 

Anon when the church bell over at Acol began a 
slow and monotonous toll he felt as if his every nerve 
must give way: as if he must laugh, laugh loudly 
and long at the idiocy, the ignorance of all these 
people who thought that they were confronted by 
an impenetrable mystery, whereas it was all so sim- 
ple ... so very, very simple. 

He had a curious feeling as if he must grip every 
one of these men here by the throat and demand 
from each one separately an account of what he 
thought and felt, what he surmised and what he 
guessed when standing face to face with the weird 
enigma presented by that mutilated thing in its 
rough deal case. He would have given worlds to 
know what his friend Boatfield thought of it all, or 
what had been the petty constable’s conjectures. 

A haunting and devilish desire seized him to 
break open the skulls of all these yokels and to 
look into their brains. Above all now the silence 
of the cottage close to him had become unendurable 
torment. That closed door, the tiny railing which 
340 


THE GIRL WIFE 


341 


surrounded the bit of front garden, that little gate 
the latch of which he himself so oft had lifted, all 
seemed to hold the key to some terrible mystery, 
the answer to some fearful riddle which he felt would 
drive him mad if he could not hit upon it now at 
once. 

The brandy had fired his veins : he no longer felt 
numb with the cold. A passion of rage was seeth- 
ing in him, and he longed to attack with fists and 
heels those curtained windows which now looked like 
eyes turned mutely and inquiringly upon him. 

But there was enough sanity in him yet to pre- 
vent his doing anything rash : an uncontrolled act 
might cause astonishment, suspicion mayhap, in the 
minds of those who witnessed it. He made a vio- 
lent effort to steady himself even now, above all 
to steady his voice and to veil that excited glitter 
which he knew must be apparent in his eyes. 

“ Meseems that ’tis somewhat strange,” he said 
quite calmly, even lightly, to Squire Boatfield who 
seemed to be preparing to go, “ that these people — 
the Lamberts — who alone knew the . . . the 

murdered man intimately, should keep so persist- 
ently, so determinedly out of the way.” 

Even while the words escaped his mouth — certes 
involuntarily — he knew that the most elementary 
prudence should have dictated silence on this score, 
and at this juncture. The man wa,s about to be 
buried, the disappearance of the smith had passed 
off so far without comment. Peace, the eternal 
peace of the grave would soon descend on the weird 


342 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


events which occupied everyone’s mind for the pres- 
ent. 

What the old Quakeress thought and felt, what 
Richard — the brother — feared and conjectured was 
easy for Sir Marmaduke to guess : for him, but for 
no one else. To these others the silence of the cot- 
tage, the absence of the Lamberts from this gath- 
ering was simple enough of explanation, seeing that 
they themselves felt such bitter resentment against 
the dead man. They quite felt with the old woman’s 
sullenness, her hatred of the foreigner who had dis- 
turbed the serenity of her life. 

Everyone else was willing to let her be, not to 
drag her and young Lambert into the unpleasant 
vortex of these proceedings. Their home was an 
abode of mourning: it was proper and seemly for 
them to remain concealed and silent within their 
cottage; seemly, too, to have curtained their win- 
dows and closed their doors. 

No one wished to disturb them; no one but Sir 
Marmaduke, and with him it was once again that 
morbid access of curiosity, the passionate, intense 
desire to know and to probe every tiny detail in con- 
nection with his own crime. 

“ The old woman Lambert should be made to 
identify the body, before it is buried,” he now re- 
peated with angry emphasis, seeing that a look of 
disapproval had crossed Squire Boatfield’s pleasant 
face. 

“ We are satisfied as to the man’s identity,” re^ 


THE GIRL WIFE 


343 


joined the Squire impatiently, “ and the sight is not 
fit for women’s eyes.” 

“Nay, then she should be shown the clothes and 
effects. . . . And, if I mistake not, there’s 

Richard Lambert, my late secretary, has he laid 
sworn information about the man?” 

“ Yes, I believe so,” said Boatfield with some hesi- 
tation. 

“ Nay, Boatfield, an you are so reluctant to do 
your duty in this matter, I’ll speak to these people 

myself. . . . You are chief constable of the 

district . . . indeed, ’tis you should do it 

and in the meanwhile I pray you, at least 
to give orders that the coffin be not nailed down.” 

The kindly Squire would have entered a further 
protest. He did not see the necessity of confront- 
ing an old woman with the gruesome sight of a mu-; 
tilated corpse, nor did he perceive justifiable cause 
for further formalities of identification. 

But Sir Marmaduke having spoken very per- 
emptorily, had already turned on his heel without 
waiting for his friend’s protest, and was striding 
across the patch of rough stubble, which bordered 
the railing round the front of the cottage. Squire 
Boatfield reluctantly followed him. The next mo- 
ment de Chavasse had lifted the latch of the gate, 
crossed the short flagged path and now knocked 
loudly against the front door. 

Apparently there was no desire for secrecy or re- 
bellion on the part of the dwellers of the cottage, 


SU NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


for hardly had Sir Mamaduke’s imperious knock 
echoed against the timbered walls, than the door 
was opened from within by Richard Lambert who, 
seeing the two gentlemen standing on the threshold, 
stepped back immediately, allowing them to pass. 

The old Quakeress and Richard were seemingly 
not alone. Two ladies sat in those same straight- 
backed chairs, wherein, some fifty hours ago Adam 
Lambert and the French prince had agreed upon 
that fateful meeting on the brow of the cliff. 

Sir Marmaduke’s restless eyes took in at a glance 
every detail of that little parlor, which he had 
known so intimately. The low lintel of the door, 
which had always forced him to stoop as he entered, 
the central table with the pewter candlesticks upon 
it, the elm chairs shining like mirrors in response to 
the Quakeress’ maddening passion for cleanliness. 

Everything was just as it had been those few 
hours ago, when last he had picked up his broad- 
brimmed hat from the table and walked out of the 
cottage into the night. Everything was the same 
as it had been when his young girl-wife pushed a 
leather wallet across the table to him: the wallet 
which contained the fortune that he had not yet 
dared to turn fully to his own account. 

Aye! it was all just the same: for even at this 
moment as he stood there in the room, Sue, pale 
and still, faced him from cross the table. For a 
moment he was silent, nor did anybody speak. 
Squire Boatfield felt unaccountably embarrassed, 
certain that he was intruding, vaguely wondering 


THE GIRL WIFE 


345 


why the atmosphere in the cottage was so heavy 
and oppressive. ( 

Behind him, Richard Lambert had quietly closed 
the front door ; the old woman stood in the back- 
ground, the dusting-cloth which she had been ply- 
ing so vigorously had dropped out of her hand 
when the two gentlemen had appeared in her little 
parlor so unexpectedly. 

Sir Marmaduke was the first to break the silence. 

“ My dear Sue,” he said curtly, 44 this is a strange 
place indeed wherein to find your ladyship.” 

He cast a sharp, inquiring glance at her, then 
at his sister-in-law, who was still sitting by the 
hearth. 

44 She insisted on coming,” said Mrs. de Chavasse 
with a shrug of the shoulders, 44 and I had not the 
power to stop her; I thought it best, therefore, to 
accompany her.” 

She was wearing the cloak and hood which Sir 
Marmaduke had seen round her shoulders when 
awhile ago he had met her in the hall of the Court. 
Apparently she had started out with Sue in his 
immediate wake, and now he had a distinct recol- 
lection that while the mare was slowly ambling 
along, he had looked back once or twice and seen 
two dark figures walking some fifty yards behind 
him on the road which he himself had just traversed. 

At the moment he had imagined that they were 
some village folk, wending their way towards Acol: 
now he was conscious of nerve-racking irritation at 
the thought that if he had only turned the mare’s 


346 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWR 


head back toward the Court — as he had at one time 
intended to do — he could have averted this present, 
meeting — it almost seemed like a confrontation — ' 
here, in this cottage on the self-same .spot where 
thought of murder had first struck upon his brain. 

There was something unexplainable, strangely 
puzzling now in Sue’s attitude. 

When de Chavasse had entered, she had risen 
from her chair and, as if deliberately, had walked 
over to the spot where she had stood during that 
momentous interview, when she relinquished her for- 
tune entirely and without protest into the hands of 
the man whom she had married, and whom she be- 
lieved to be her lord. 

Her gaze now — calm and fixed, and withal 
vaguely searching — rested on her guardian’s face, 
the fixity of her look increased his nerve-tension. 
The others, too, were regarding him with varying 
feelings which were freely expressed in their eyes. 
Boatfield seemed upset and somewhat resentful, the 
old woman sullen despite the deference in her at- 
titude, Lambert defiant, wrathful, nay ! full of an 
incipient desire to avenge past wrongs. 

And dominating all, there was Editha’s look of 
bewilderment, of puzzledom in her face of a mystery 
whereat her senses were beginning to reel, that mute 
questioning of the eyes, which speaks of turbulent 
thoughts within. 

Sir Marmaduke uttered an exclamation of im- 
patience. 

“ You must return to the Court and at once,” 


THE GIRL WIFE 


347 

he said, avoiding Sue’s gaze and speaking directly 
to Editha, “ the men are outside, with lanthoms. 
You’ll have to walk quickly an you wish to reach 
home before twilight.” 

But even while he spoke, Sue — not heeding him, 
— had turned to Squire Boatfield. She went up to 
him, holding out her hands as if in instinctive child- 
like appeal for protection to a kindly man. 

“ This mystery is horrible ! ” she murmured. 

Boatfield took her small hands in his, patting them 
gently the while, desiring to soothe and comfort her, 
for she seemed deeply agitated and there was a 
wild look of fear from time to time in her pale face. 

“ Sir Marmaduke is right,” said the Squire 
gently, “ this is indeed no place for your ladyship. 
I did not see you arrive or I had at once persuaded 
you to go.” 

De Chavasse would again have interposed. He 
stooped and picked up Sue’s cloak which had fallen 
to the ground, and as he went up to her with the 
obvious intention of replacing it round her shoul- 
ders, she checked him, with a slight motion of her 
hand. 

“ I only heard of this terrible crime an hour ago,” 
she said, speaking once more to Boatfield, “ and as 
I methinks, am the only person in the world who 
can throw light upon this awesome mystery, I 
thought it my duty to come.” 

“ Of a truth ’twas brave of your ladyship,” quoth 
the Squire, feeling a little bewildered at this strange 


348 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


announcement, “ but surely . . . you did not 

know this man? ” 

“ If the rumor which hath reached me be cor- 
rect,” she replied quietly, “ then indeed did I know 
the murdered man intimately. Prince Amede d’Or- 
leans was my husband.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


THE OLD WOMAN 

HHHERE was silence in the tiny cottage parlor 
as the young girl made this extraordinary an- 
nouncement in a firm if toneless voice, without flinch- 
ing and meeting with a sort of stubborn pride the 
five pairs of eyes which were now riveted upon her. 

From outside came the hum of many voices, dull 
and subdued like the buzzing of a swarm of bees, 
and against the small window panes the incessant 
patter of icy rain driven and lashed by the gale. 
Anon the wind moaned in the wide chimney, 
it seemed like the loud sigh of the Fates, 
satisfied at the tangle wrought by their relentless 
fingers in the threads of all these lives. 

Sir Marmaduke, after a slight pause, had con- 
trived to utter an oath — indicative of the wrath 
he, as Lady Sue’s guardian, should have felt at her 
statement. Squire Boatfield frowned at the oath. 
He had never liked de Chavasse and disapproved 
more than ever at the man’s attitude towards his 
womenkind now. 

The girl was in obvious, terrible distress : what 
she was feeling at this moment when she was 
taking those around her into her confidence could 
be as nothing compared to what she must have en- 
349 


350 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

dured when she first heard the news that her 
strange bridegroom had been murdered. 

The kindly Squire, though admitting the guard- 
ian’s wrath, thought that its violent expression was 
certainly ill-timed. He allowed Sue to recover her- 
self, for the more calm was her attitude outwardly, 
the more terrible must be the effort which she was 
making at self-control. 

Sue’s eyes were fixed steadily upon her guardian, 
and Richard Lambert’s upon her. Both these 
young people who had carved their own Fate in 
the very rock which now had shattered their lives, 
seemed to be searching for something vague, un- 
avowed and mysterious which instinct told them was 
there, but which was so elusive, so intangible that 
their soul recoiled, even whilst it tried to probe. 

Entirely against her will Sue — whilst she looked 
on her guardian — could think of nothing save of 
that day in Dover, the lonely church, the gloomy 
vestry, and that weird patter of the rain against 
the window panes. 

She was not ashamed of what she had done, only 
of what she had felt for him, whom she now be- 
lieved to be dead; that she gave him her fortune 
was nothing, she neither regretted nor cared about 
that. What, in the mind of a young and romantic 
girl, was the value of a fortune squandered, when 
that priceless treasure — her first love — had already 
been thrown away? But now she would no longer 
judge the dead. The money which he had filched 
from her, Fate and a murderous hand had quickly 


THE OLD WOMAN 


351 


taken back from him, crushing beneath those chalk 
boulders his many desires, his vast ambitions, a 
worthless life and incomparable greed. 

Her love, which he had stolen . . . that he 

could not give back: not that ardent, whole-souled, 
enthusiastic love ; not the romantic idealism, the hero 
worship, that veil of fantasy behind which first Love 
is wont to hide its ephemerality. But she would not 
now judge the dead. Her romantic love lay buried 
in the lonely church at Dover, and she was striving 
not to think even of its grave. 

Squire Boatfield’s kindly voice recalled her to her 
immediate surroundings and to the duty — self-im- 
posed — which had brought her thither. 

“ My dear child,” he said, speaking with un- 
wonted solemnity, “ if what you have just stated 
be, alas ! the truth, then indeed you and you only 
can throw some light on the terrible mystery which 
has been puzzling us all you may be the 

means which God hath chosen for bringing an evil- 
doer to justice. . . . Will you, therefore, try 

. . . though it may be very painful to you 

will you try and tell us everything that is 
in your mind . . . everything which may draw 

the finger of God and our poor eyes to the mis- 
creant who hath committed such an awful crime.” 

“ I fear me I have not much to tell,” replied Sue 
simply, “but I feel that it is my duty to suggest to 
the two magistrates here present what I think was 
the motive which prompted this horrible crime.” 

“You can suggest a motive for the crime?” in- 


352 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


terposed Sir Marmaduke, striving to sneer, although 
his voice sounded quite toneless, for his throat was 
parched and his tongue clove to the roof of his 
mouth, “by Gad! ’twere vastly interesting to hear 
your ladyship’s views.” 

He tried to speak flippantly, at which Squire 
Boatfield frowned deprecation. Lambert, without 
a word, had brought a chair near to Lady Sue, and 
with a certain gentle authority, he forced her to 
sit down. 

“ It was a crime, of that I feel sure,” said Sue, 
“nathless that can be easily proven . . . when 

when it has been discovered whether money 
and securities contained in a wallet of leather have 
been found among Prince Amede’s effects.” 

“Money and securities?” ejaculated Sir Mar- 
maduke with a loud oath, which he contrived to 
bring forth with the violence of genuine wrath, 
“Money and securities? . . . Forsooth I 

trust . . ” 

“ My money and my securities, sir,” she inter- 
posed with obvious hauteur, “ which I had last 
night and in this self-same room placed in the hands 
of Prince Amede d’Orleans, my husband.” 

She said this with conscious pride. Whatever 
change her feelings may have undergone towards 
the man who had at one time been the embodiment 
of her most cherished dreams, she would not let her 
sneering guardian see that she had repented of her 
choice. 

Death had endowed her exiled prince with a dig- 


THE OLD WOMAN 


353 


nity which had never been his in life: and the veil 
of tragedy which now lay over the mysterious 
stranger and his still more mysterious life, had 
called forth to its uttermost the young wife’s sense 
of loyalty to him. 

“ Not your entire fortune, my dear, dear child, I 
hope . . ejaculated Squire Boatfield, more 

horror-struck this time than he had been when first 
he had heard of the terrible murder. 

“ The wallet contained my entire fortune,” re- 
joined Sue calmly, “ all that Master Skyffington had 
placed in my hands on the day that my father willed 
that it should be given me.” 

“ Such folly is nothing short of criminal,” said 
Sir Marmaduke roughly, “ nathless had not the 
gentleman been murdered that night he would have 
shown Thanet and you a clean pair of heels, taking 
your money with him, of course.” 

“ Aye ! aye ! but he was murdered,” said Squire 
Boatfield firmly, “ the question only is by whom ? ” 

“ Some footpad who haunts the cliffs,” rejoined 
de Chavasse lightly, “ ’tis simple enough.” 

“ Simple, mayhap . . .” mused the Squire, 

“ yet . . 

He paused a moment and once more silence fell 
on all those assembled in the small cottage parlor. 
Sir Marmaduke felt as if every vein in his body 
was gradually being turned to stone. 

The sense of expectancy was so overwhelming 
that it completely paralyzed every other faculty 
within him: and Editha’s searching eyes seemed like 


354 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


a corroding acid touching an aching wound. Yet 
for the moment there was no danger. He had so 
surrounded himself and his crimes with mystery that 
it would take more than a country Squire’s slowly 
moving brain to draw aside that weird and ghost- 
like curtain which hid his evil deeds. 

No ! there was no danger — as yet ! 

But he cursed himself for a fool and a coward, 
not to have gone away — abroad — long ere such a 
possible confrontation threatened him. He cursed 
himself for being here at all — and above all for 
having left the smith’s clothes and the leather wal- 
let in that lonely pavilion in the park. 

Squire Boatfield’s kind eyes now rested on the old 
woman, who, awed and silent — shut out by her in- 
firmities from this strange drama which was being 
enacted in her cottage — had stood calm and im- 
passive by, trying to read with that wonderful 
quickness of intuition which the poverty of one sense 
gives to the others — what was going on round her, 
since she could not hear. 

Her eyes — pale and dim, heavy-lidded and deeply- 
lined — rested often on the face of Richard Lam- 
bert, who, leaning against the corner of the hearth, 
had watched the proceedings silently and intently. 
When the Quakeress’ faded gaze met that of the 
young man, there was a quick and anxious look 
which passed from her to him: a look of entreaty 
for comfort, one of fear and of growing horror. 

“And so the exiled prince lodged in your cot- 
tage, Mistress?” said Squire Boatfield after awhile. 


THE OLD WOMAN 3S5 

The old woman’s eyes wandered from Richard to 
the Squire. The look of fear in them vanished, giv- 
ing place to good-natured placidity. She shuffled 
forward, in the manner which had so oft irritated 
her lodger. 

“ Eh? . . . what?” she queried, approach- 

ing the Squire, “ I am somewhat hard of hearing 
these times.” 

“We were speaking of your lodger, Mistress,” 
rejoined Boatfield, raising his voice, “ harm hath 
come to him you know.” 

“ Aye ! aye ! ” she replied blandly, “ harm hath 
come to our lodger. . . . Nay! the Lord hath 

willed it so. The stranger was queer in 

his ways. ... I don’t wonder that harm hath 
come to him. . . 

“You remember him well, Mistress? — him and 
the clothes he used to wear?” asked Boatfield. 

“Oh, yes! I remember the clothes,” she rejoined. 
“ I saw them again on the dead who now lieth in 
Adam’s forge . . . the same curious clothes of 
a truth . . . clothes the Lord would condemn 

as wantonness and vanity. ... I saw them 
again on the dead man,” she reiterated garrulously, 
“ the frills and furbelows . . . things the Lord 

hateth . . . and which no Christian should 

place upon his person . . . yet the foreigner 

wore them ... he had none other . 
and went out with them on him that night that the 
Lord sent him down into perdition. . . .” 


856 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


“ Did you see him go out that night, Mistress ? 
asked the Squire. 

“Eh? . . . what? . . ” 

“ Did he go out alone? ” 

The dimmed eyes of the old woman roamed rest- 
lessly from face to face. It seemed as if that look 
of horror and of fear once more struggled to ap- 
pear within the pale orbs. Yet the Squire looked 
on her with kindness : and Lady Sue’s tear-veiled 
eyes expressed boundless sympathy. Richard, on 
the other hand, did not look at her, his gaze was 
riveted on Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse with an in- 
tensity which caused the latter to meet that look, 
trying to defy it, and then to flinch before its ex- 
pression of passionate wrath. 

“We wish to know where your nephew Adam is, 
Mistress,” now broke in de Chavasse roughly, “ the 
Squire and I would wish to ask him a few ques- 
tions.” 

Then as the Quakeress did not reply, he added 
almost savagely : 

“Why don’t you answer, woman? Are ye still 
hard of hearing? ” 

“ Your pardon, Sir Marmaduke,” interposed 
Lambert firmly, “ my aunt is old and feeble. She 
hath been much upset and over anxious 
seeing that my brother Adam is still from home.” 

Sir Marmaduke broke into a loud and prolonged 
laugh. 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! good Master ... so I un- 
derstand . . . your brother is from home 


THE OLD WOMAN 


357 


whilst the wallet containing her ladyship’s 
fortune has disappeared along with him, eh? ” 

“What are they saying, lad?” queried the old 
woman in her trembling voice, “ what are they 
saying? I am fearful lest there’s something wrong 
with Adam. . . 

“ Nay, nay, dear . . . there’s naught 
amiss,” said Lambert soothingly, “ there’s naught 
amiss. . . .” 

Instinctively now Sue had risen. Sir Marma- 
duke’s cruel laugh had grated horribly on her ear, 
rousing an echo in her memory which she could not 
understand but which caused her to encircle the 
trembling figure of the old Quakeress with young, 
protecting arms. 

“ Are Squire Boatfield and I to understand, Lam- 
bert,” continued Sir Marmaduke, speaking to the 
young man, “ that your brother Adam has unac- 
countably disappeared since the night on which the 
foreigner met with his tragic fate? Nay, Boat- 
field,” he added, turning to the Squire, as Lambert 
had remained silent, “ methinks you, as chief magis- 
trate, should see your duty clearly. ’Tis a warrant 
you should sign and quickly, too, ere a scoundrel 
slip through the noose of justice. I can on the 
morrow to Dover, there to see the chief constable, 
but Pyot and his men should not be idle the while.” 

“What is he saying, my dear?” murmured Mis- 
tress Lambert, timorously, as she clung with pa- 
thetic fervor to the young girl beside her, “ what is 
the trouble? ” 


358 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


44 Where is your nephew Adam ? ” said de Cha- 
vasse roughly. 

44 I do not know,” she retorted with amazing 
strength of voice, as she gently but firmly disen- 
gaged herself from the restraining arms that would 
have kept her back. 44 1 do not know,” she repeated, 
44 what is it to thee, where he is P Art accusing him 
perchance of doing away with that foreign devil? ” 

Her voice rose shrill and resonant, echoing in the 
low-ceilinged room: her pale eyes dimmed with many 
tears, with hard work, and harder piety were fixed 
upon the man who had dared to accuse her lad. 

He tried not to flinch before that gaze, to keep 
up the air of mockery, the sound of a sneer. Out- 
side the murmur of voices had become somewhat 
louder, the .shufflng of bare feet on the flag-stones 
could now be distinctly heard. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


THE VOICE OF THE DEAD 

T 1 1 HE next moment a timid knock against the 
front door caused everyone to start. A strange 
eerie feeling descended in the hearts of all, of inno- 
cent and of guilty, of accuser and of defender. The 
knock seemed to have come from spectral hands, for 
’twas followed by no further sound. 

Then again the knock. 

Lambert went to the door and opened it. 

“ Be the quality here? ” queried a timid voice. 

“ Squire Boatfield is here and Sir Marmaduke de 
Chavasse,” replied Lambert, “ what is it, Mat? 
Come in.” 

The Squire had risen at sound of his name, and 
now went to the door, glad enough to shake him- 
self free from that awful oppression which hung on 
the cottage like a weight of evil. 

“What is it, Mat?” he asked. 

A man in rough shirt and coarse breeches and 
with high boots reaching up to the thigh was stand- 
ing humbly in the doorway. He was bare-headed 
and his lanky hair wet with rain and glittering with 
icy moisture was blown about by the gale. At sight 
of the Squire he touched his forelock. 

“ The hour is getting late, Squire,” he said hesi- 
359 


360 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

tatingly, “ we carriers be ready. . . . ’Tis an 
hour or more down to Minster . . . walking 
with a heavy burden I mean. ... If your 
Honor would give the order, mayhap we might nail 
down the coffin lid now and make a start.” 

Marmaduke de Chavasse, too, had turned towards 
the doorway. Both men looked out on the little 
crowd which had congregated beyond the little gate. 
It was long past three o’clock now, and the heavy 
snow clouds overhead obscured the scanty winter 
light, and precipitated the approach of evening. 
In the gray twilight, a group of men could be seen 
standing somewhat apart from the others. All were 
bare-headed and all wore rough shirt and breeches 
of coarse worsted, drab or brown in color toning in 
with the dull monochrome of the background. 

Between them in the muddy road stood the long 
deal coffin. The sheet which covered it rendered 

4 

heavy with persistent wet, flapped dismally against 
the wooden sides of the box. Overhead a group of 
rooks were circling whilst uttering their monotonous 
call. 

A few women had joined their men-folk, attracted 
by the novelty of the proceedings, yielding their 
momentary comfort to their feeling of curiosity. 
They had drawn their kirtles over their heads and 
looked like gigantic oval balls, gray or black, with 
small mud-stained feet peeping out below. 

Sue had thrown an appealing look at Squire Boat- 
field, when she saw that dismal cortege. Her hus- 
band, her prince! the descendant of the Bourbons, 


THE VOICE OF THE DEAD 361 

the regenerator of France lying there — unrecog- 
nizable, horrible and loathsome — in a rough wooden 
coffin hastily nailed together by a village carpenter. 

She did not wish to look on him: and with mute 
eyes begged the Squire to spare her and to spare the 
old woman, who, through the doorway had caught 
sight of the drabby little crowd, and of the deal box 
on the ground. 

Lambert, too, at sight of the cortege had gone 
to the Quakeress, the kind soul who had cared for 
him and his brother, two nameless lads, without home 
save the one she had provided for them. He trusted 
in Squire Boatfield’s sense of humanity not to force 
this septuagenarian to an effort of nerve and will 
altogether beyond her powers. 

Together the two young people were using gentle 
persuasion to get the old woman to the back room, 
whence she could not see the dreary scene now or 
presently, the slow winding of the dismal little pro- 
cession down the road which leads to Minster, and 
whence she could not hear that weird flapping of the 
wet sheet against the side of the coffin, an echo to 
the slow and muffled tolling of the church bell some 
little distance away. 

But the old woman was obstinate. She struggled 
against the persuasion of young arms. Things had 
been said in her cottage just now, which she must 
hear more distinctly : vague accusations had been 
framed, a cruel and sneering laugh had echoed 
through the house from whence one of her lads — ' 
Adam — was absent. 


362 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


“ No! no! ” she said with quiet firmness, as Lam- 
bert urged her to withdraw, “ let be, lad 
let be ... ye cannot deceive the old woman 
all of ye. . . . The Lord hath put wool in 
my ears, so I cannot hear . . . but my eyes 
are good. ... I can see your faces. . . . 

I can read them. . . . Speak man ! ” she said, 

as she suddenly disengaged herself from Richard’s 
restraining arms and walked deliberately up to Mar- 
maduke de Chavasse, “ Speak man. . . . Didst 

thou accuse Adam? ” 

An involuntary: “No!” escaped from the 
Squire’s kindly heart and lips. But Sir Marmaduke 
shrugged his shoulders. 

The crisis which by his own acts, by his own cow- 
ardice he himself had precipitated, was here now. 
Fatality had overtaken him. Whether the whole 
truth would come to light he did not know. Truly 
at his moment he hardly cared. He did not feel 
as if he were himself, but another being before whom 
stood another Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, on whom 
he — a specter, a ghoul, a dream figure — was about 
to pass judgment. 

He knew that he need do nothing now, for with- 
out his help or any effort on his part, that morbid 
curiosity which had racked his brain for two days 
would be fully satisfied. He would know absolutely 
now, exactly what everyone thought of the mysteri- 
ous French prince and of his terrible fate on Epple 
sands. 

Thank Satan and all his hordes of devils that 


THE VOICE OF THE DEAD 363 

heavy chalk boulders had done so complete a work 
of obliteration. 

But whilst he looked down with complete indif- 
ference on the old woman, she looked round from 
one face to the other, trying to read what cruel 
thoughts of Adam lurked behind those obvious ex- 
pressions of sympathy. 

44 So that foreign devil hath done mischief at 
last,” she now said loudly, her tremulous voice gain- 
ing in strength as she spoke, 44 the Lord would not 
allow him to do it living ... so the devil 
hath helped him to it now that he is dead. 

But 1 tell you that Adam is innocent. 

There was no harm in the lad ... a little 

rough at times . . . but no harm 

he’d no father to bring him up and his 

mother was a wanton ... so there was only 

the foolish old woman to look after the boys 

but there’s no harm in the lad . . . there’s no 

harm ! ” 

Her voice broke down now in a sob, her throat 
seemed choked, but with an effort which seemed in- 
deed amazing in one of her years, she controlled her 
tears, and for a moment was silent. The gray twi- 
light crept in through the door of the cottage, 
where Mat, bare-headed and humble, still waited 
for the order to go. 

Sir Marmaduke would have interrupted the old 
woman’s talk ere this, but his limbs were now com- 
pletely paralyzed: he might have been made of 
stone, so rigid did he feel himself to be: a marble 


364 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

image, or else a specter, a shadow-figure that ex- 
isted yet could not move. 

There was such passionate earnestness in the old 
woman’s words that everyone else remained dumb. 
Richard, whose heart was filled with dread, who had 
endured agonies of anxiety since the disappearance 
of his brother, had but one great desire, which was 
to spare to the kind soul a knowledge which would 
mean death or worse to her. 

As for Editha de Chavasse, she was a mere spec- 
tator still: so puzzled, so bewildered that she was 
quite convinced at this moment, that she must be 
mad. She could not encounter Marmaduke’s eyes, 
try how she might. The look in his face horrified 
her less than it mystified her. She alone — save the 
murderer himself — knew that the man who lay in 
that deal coffin out there was not the mysterious 
foreigner who had never existed. 

But if not the stranger, then who was it, who 
was dead? and what had Adam Lambert to do with 
the whole terrible deed? 

Sue once more tried to lead Mistress Lambert 
gently away, but she pushed the young girl aside 
quite firmly: 

44 Ye don’t believe me?” she asked, looking from 
one face to the other, 44 ye don’t believe me, yet I 
tell ye all that Adam is innocent . . . and 
that the Lord will not allow the innocent to be un- 
justly condemned. . . . Aye! He will e’en let 

the dead arise I say, and proclaim the innocence 
of my lad ! 99 


THE VOICE OF THE DEAD 365 

Her eyes — with dilated pupils and pale opaque 
rims — had the look of the seer in them now: she 
gazed straight out before her into the rain-laden 
air, and it seemed almost as if in it she could per- 
ceive visions of avenging swords, of defending an- 
gels and accusing ghouls, that she could hear whis- 
perings of muffled voices and feel beckoning hands 
guiding her to a world peopled by specters and evil 
beings that prey upon the dead. 

46 Let me pass ! ” she said with amazing vigor, as 
Squire Boatfield, with kindly concern, tried to bar 
her exit through the door, 44 let me pass I say ! the 
dead and I have questions to ask of one another.” 

44 This is madness ! ” broke in Marmaduke de 
Chavasse with an effort; 44 that body is not a fit 
sight for a woman to look upon.” 

He would have seized the Quakeress by the arm 
in order to force her back, but Richard Lambert 
already stood between her and him. 

44 Let no one dare to lay a hand on her,” he said 

And the old woman escaping from all those who 
would have restrained her, walked rapidly through 
the doorway and down the flagged path rendered 
slippery with the sleet. The gale caught the white 
wings of her coif, causing them to flutter about her 
ears, and freezing strands of her gray locks which 
stood out now all round her head like a grizzled 
halo. 

She could scarcely advance for the wind drove 
her kirtle about her lean thighs, and her feet with 


366 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


the heavy tan shoes sank ankle deep in the puddles 
formed by the water in the interstices of the flag- 
stones. The rain beat against her face, mingling 
with the tears which now flowed freely down her 
cheeks. But she did not heed the discomfort nor 
yet the cold, and she would not be restrained. 

The next moment she ■stood beside the rough 
wooden coffin and with a steady hand had lifted the 
wet sheet, which continued to flap with dull, mourn- 
ful sound round the feet of the dead. 

The Quakeress looked down upon the figure 
stretched out here in death — neither majestic nor 
peaceful, but horrible and weirdly mysterious. She 
did not flinch at the sight. Resentment against 
the foreigner dimmed her sense of horror. 

“ So my fine prince,” she said, whilst awed at the 
spectacle of this old woman parleying with the dead, 
carriers and mourners had instinctively moved a few 
steps away from her, “ so thou wouldst harm my 
boy ! . . . Thou always didst hate him . . 

thou with thy grand airs, and thy rough ways. 

Had the Lord allowed it this hand of thine 
would ere now have been raised against him 
as it oft was raised against the old woman 
whose infirmities should have rendered her sacred in 
thy sight.” 

She stooped, and deliberately raised the mur- 
dered man’s hand in hers, and for one moment fixed 
her gaze upon it. For that one moment she was 
silent, looking down at the rough fingers, the coarse 
nail, the blistered palm. 


THE VOICE OF THE DEAD 367 


Then still holding the hand in hers, she looked 
up, then round at every face which was turned 
fixedly upon her. Thus she encountered the eyes of 
the men and women, present here only to witness an 
unwonted spectacle, then those of the kindly Squire, 
of Lady Sue, of Mistress de Chavasse, and of her 
other lad — Richard — all of whom had instinctively 
followed her down the short flagged path in the 
wake of her strange and prophetic pilgrimage. 

Lastly her eyes met those of Marmaduke de Cha- 
vasse. Then she spoke slowly in a low muffled 
voice, which gradually grew more loud and more full 
of passionate strength. 

“Aye! the Lord is just,” she said, “ the Lord is 
great ! It is the dead which shall rise again and 
proclaim the innocence of the just, and the guilt 
of the wicked.” 

She paused awhile, and stooped to kiss the mar- 
ble-like hand which she held tightly grasped in hers. 

“ Adam ! ” she murmured, “ Adam, my boy ! 
. . . my lad! . . 

The men and women looked on, stupidly staring, 
not understanding yet, what new tragedy had sud- 
denly taken the place of the old. 

“ Aunt, aunt dear,” whispered Lambert, who had 
pushed his way forward, and now put his arm 
round the old woman, for she had begun to sway, 
“ what is the matter, dear? ” he repeated anxiously, 
“ what does it mean? ” 

And conquering his own sense of horror and re- 
pulsion, he tried to disengage the cold and rigid 


368 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


hand of the dead from the trembling grasp of the 
Quakeress. But she would not relinquish her hold, 
only she turned and looked steadily at the young 
lad, whilst her voice rose firm and harsh above the 
loud patter of the rain and the moaning of the 
wind through the distant trees. 

“ It means, my lad,” she said, “ it means all of 
you . . . that what I said was true 

that Adam is innocent of crime . . . for he 

lies here dead . . . and the Lord will see that 

his death shall not remain unavenged.” 

Once more she kissed the rough hand, beautiful 
now with that cold beauty which the rigidity of 
death imparts : then she replaced it reverently, si- 
lently, and fell upon her knees in the wet mud, be- 
side the coffin. 


i 

f 

i 


i 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


THE HOME-COMING OF ADAM LAMBERT 

yi heads were bent, none of the ignorant folk 
who stood around would have dared even to 
look at the old woman kneeling beside that rough 
deal box which contained the body of her lad. A 
reverent feeling had killed all curiosity : bewilder- 
ment at the extraordinary and wholly unexpected 
turn of events had been merged in a sense of re- 
spectful awe, which rendered every mouth silent, 
and lowered every lid. 

Squire Boatfield, almost paralyzed with aston- 
ishment, had murmured half stupidly: 

“ Adam Lambert . . . dead? ... I 

do not understand.” 

He turned to Marmaduke de Chavasse as if 
vaguely, instinctively expecting an answer to the 
terrible puzzle from him. 

De Chavasse’s feet, over which he himself seemed 
to have no control, had of a truth led him forward, 
so that he, too, stood not far from the old woman 
now. He had watched her — silent and rigid, — con- 
scious only of one thing — a trivial matter certes — 
of Editha’s inquiring eyes fixed steadily upon him. 

Everything else had been merged in a kind of a 
dream. But the mute question in those eyes was 
369 


370 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


what concerned him. It seemed to represent the 
satisfaction of that morbid curiosity which had been 
such a terible obsession during these past nerve- 
racking days. 

Editha, realizing the identity of the dead man, 
would there and then know the entire truth. But 
Editha’s fate was too closely linked to his own to 
render her knowledge of that truth dangerous to 
de Chavasse: therefore, with him it was merely a 
sense of profound satisfaction that some one would 
henceforth share his secret with him. 

It is quite impossible to analyze the thoughts of 
the man who thus stood by — a silent and almost 
impassive spectator — of a scene, wherein his fate, his 
life, an awful retribution and deadly justice were 
all hanging in the balance. He was not mad, nor 
did he act with either irrelevance or rashness. The 
sense of self-protection was still keen in him 
violently keen . . . although undoubtedly he 

and he alone was responsible for the events which 
culminated in the present crisis. 

The whole aspect of affairs had changed from 
the moment that the real identity of the dead had 
been established. Everyone here present would re- 
gard this new mystery in an altogether different 
light to that by which they had viewed the former 
weird problem: but still there need be no danger to 
the murderer. 

Editha would know, of course, but no one else, 
and it would be vastly curious anon to see what 
lady Sue would do. 


HOME-COMING OF ADAM LAMBERT 371 

Therefore, Sir Marmaduke was chiefly conscious 
of Editha’s presence, and then only of Sue. 

“ Some old woman’s folly,” he now said roughly, 
in response to Squire Boatfield’s mute inquiry, 
“ awhile ago she identified the clothes as having 
belonged to the foreign prince.” 

“ Aye, the clothes, de Chavasse,” murmured the 
Squire meditatively, “ the clothes, but not the man 
. . . and ’twas you yourself who just 

now . . 

“ Master Lambert should know his own brother,” 
here came in a suppressed murmur from one or two 
of the men, who respectful before the quality, had 
now become too excited to keep altogether silent. 

“ Of course I know my brother,” retorted Richard 
Lambert boldly, “ and can but curse mine own cow- 
ardice in not defending him ere this.” 

“ What more lies are we to hear? ” sneered de 
Chavasse, “ surely, Boatfield, this stupid scene hath 
lasted long enough.” 

“ Put my knowledge to the test, sir,” rejoined 
Lambert, “ my brother’s arm was scarred by a deep 
cut from shoulder to elbow, caused by the fall of a 
sharp-bladed ax — ’ twas the right arm . . . 

will you see, Sir Marmaduke, or will you allow me 
to lay bare the right arm of this man ... to 
see if I have lied. . . .” 

Squire Boatfield, conquering his reluctance, had 
approached nearer to the coffin ; he, too, lifted the 
dead man’s arm, as the old woman had done just 
now, and he gazed down meditatively at the hand, 


372 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


which though shapely was obviously rough and toil- 
worn. Then, with a firm and deliberate gesture, he 
undid the sleeve of the doublet and pushed it back, 
baring the arm up to the shoulder. 

He looked at the lifeless flesh for a moment, there 
where a deep and long scar stood out plainly be- 
tween the elbow and shoulder like the veining in a 
block of marble. Then he pulled the sleeve down 
again. 

“ Neither you, nor Mistress Lambert have lied, 
Master,” he said simply. ’Tis Adam Lambert who 
lies here . . . murdered . . . and if that 

be so,” he continued firmly, 66 then the man who put 
these clothes upon the body of the smith is his mur- 
derer . . . the foreigner who called himself 

Prince Amede d’Orleans.” 

“ The husband of Lady Sue Aldmarshe,” quoth 
Sir Marmaduke, breaking into a loud laugh. 

The rain had momentarily ceased, although the 
gale, promising further havoc, still continued that 
mournful swaying of the dead branches of the trees. 
But a gentle drip-drip had replaced that incessant 
patter. The humid atmosphere had long ago pene- 
trated through rough shirts and worsted breeches, 
causing the spectators of this weird tragedy to 
shiver with the cold. 

The shades of evening had begun to gather in. 
It were useless now to attempt to reach Minster be- 
fore nightfall: nor presumably would the old Quak- 
eress thus have parted from the dead body of her 
lad. 


HOME-COMING OF ADAM LAMBERT 373 

Richard Lambert had begged that the coffin 
might be taken into the cottage. The old woman’s 
co-religionists would help her to obtain for Adam 
fitting and Christian burial. 

After Sir Marmaduke’s sneering taunt no one 
had spoken. For these yokels and their women- 
folk the matter had passed altogether beyond their 
ken. Bewildered, not understanding, above all more 
than half fearful, they consulted one another 
vaguely and mutely with eyes and quaint expressive 
gestures, wondering what had best be done. 

’Twas fortunate that the rain had ceased. One 
by one the women, still holding their kirtles tightly 
round their shoulders, began to move away. The 
deal box seemed to have reached a degree of mys- 
tery from which ’twas best to keep at a distance. 
The men, too — those who had come as spectators 
— were gradually edging away, some walked off 
with their womenfolk, others hung back in groups 
of three or four discussing the most hospitable 
place to which ’twere best to adjourn. 

All wore a strangely shamed expression of timid- 
ity — almost of self-deprecation, as if apologetic for 
their presence here when the quality had matters of 
such grave import to discuss. No one had really 
understood Sir Marmaduke’s sneering taunt, only 
they felt instinctively that there were some secrets 
which it had been disrespectful even to attempt to 
guess. 

Those who had been prepared to carry the coffin 
to Minster were the last to hang back. Squire 


374 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


Boatfield was obviously giving some directions to 
their foreman, Mat, who tugged at his forelock at 
intervals, indicating that he was prepared to obey. 
The others stood aside waiting for instructions. 

Thus the deal box remained on the ground, ex- 
actly opposite the tiny wooden gate, strangely iso- 
lated and neglected-looking after the dispersal of 
the interested crowd which had surrounded it awhile 
ago. It seemed as if with the establishment of the 
real identity of the dead the intensity of the excite- 
ment had vanished. The mysterious foreigner had 
a small court round him, Adam Lambert only his 
brother and the old Quakeress. 

They remained beside the coffin, she kneeling with 
her head buried in her wrinkled hands, he standing 
silent and passionately wrathful both against one 
man and against destiny. He had almost screamed 
with horror when de ChavaSse thus brutally uttered 
Lady Sue’s name : he had seen the young girl almost 
sway on her feet, as she smothered the cry of agony 
and horror which at her guardian’s callous taunt 
had risen to her lips. 

He had seen and in his heart worshiped her for 
the heroic effort which she made to remain outwardly 
calm, not to betray before a crowd the agonizing 
horror, the awful fear and the burning shame which 
of a truth would have crushed most women of her 
tender years. And because he saw that she did not 
wish to betray one single thought or emotion, he 
did not approach, nor attempt to show the over- 
whelming sympathy which he felt. 


HOME-COMING OF ADAM LAMBERT 375 

He knew that any word from him to her would 
only call forth more malicious sneers from that 
strange man, who seemed to be pursuing Lady Sue 
and also himself — Lambert — with a tenacious and 
incomprehensible hatred. 

Richard remained, therefore, beside his dead 
brother’s coffin, supporting and anon gently raising 
the old woman from the ground. 

Mat — the foreman — had joined his comrades and 
after a word of explanation, they once more gath- 
ered round the wooden box. Stooping to their task, 
their sinews cracking under the effort, the perspira- 
tion streaming from their foreheads, they raised the 
mortal remains of Adam Lambert from the ground 
and hoisted it upon their shoulders. 

Then they turned into the tiny gate and slowly 
walked with it along the little flagged path to the 
cottage. The men had to stoop as they crossed the 
threshold, and the heavy box swayed above the 
powerful shoulders. 

The Quakeress and Richard followed, going 
within in the wake of the six men. The parlor was 
then empty, and thus it was that Adam Lambert 
finally came home. 

The others — Squire Boatfield and Mrs. de Cha- 
vasse, Lady Sue and Sir Marmaduke, had stood 
aside in the small fore-court, to enable the small 
cortege to pass. Directly Richard Lambert and 
the old woman disappeared within the gloom of the 
cottage interior, these four people — each individu- 


376 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


ally the prey of harrowing thoughts — once more 
turned their steps towards the open road. 

There was nothing more to be done here at this 
cottage, where the veil of mystery which had fallen 
over the gruesome murder had been so unexpectedly 
lifted by a septuagenarian’s hand. 


CHAPTER XL 


editha’s return 

O QUIRE BOATFIELD was vastly perturbed. 

Never had his position as magistrate seemed 
so onerous to him, nor his duties as major-general 
quite so arduous. A vague and haunting fear had 
seized him, a fear that — if he did do his duty, if 
he did continue his investigations of the mysterious 
crime — he would learn something vastly horrible 
and awesome, something he had best never know. 

He tried to take indifferent leave of the ladies, 
yet he quite dreaded to meet Lady Sue’s eyes. If 
all the misery, the terror which she must feel, were 
expressed in them, then indeed would her young face 
be a heart-breaking sight for any man to see. 

He kissed the hand of Editha de Chavasse, and 
bowed in mute and deferential sympathy to the 
young girl-wife, who of a truth had this day quaffed 
at one draught the brimful cup of sorrow and of 
shame. 

An unexplainable instinct restrained him from 
taking de Chavasse’s hand; he was quite glad in- 
deed that the latter seemingly absorbed in thoughts 
was not heeding his going. 

The Squire in his turn now passed out of the 
little gate. The evening was drawing in over rap- 
377 


378 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


idly now, and it would be a long and dismal ride 
from here to Sarre. 

Fortunately he had two serving men with him, 
each with a lanthom. They were now standing be- 
side their master’s cob, some few yards down the 
road, which from this point leads in a straight 
course down to Sarre. 

Not far from the entrance to the forge, Boat- 
field saw petty-constable Pyot in close converse with 
Master Hymn of Praise Busy, butler to Sir Mar- 
maduke. The man was talking with great volubil- 
ity, and obvious excitement, and Pyot was appar- 
ently tom between his scorn for the narrator’s gar- 
rulousness, and his fear of losing something of 
what the talker had to say. 

At sight of Boatfield, Pyot unceremoniously left 
Master Busy .standing, open-mouthed, in the very 
midst of a voluble sentence, and approached the 
Squire, doffing his cap respectfully as he did so. 

“ Will your Honor sign a warrant? ” he asked. 

“ A warrant ? What warrant ? ” queried the 
worthy Squire, who of a truth, was falling from 
puzzlement to such absolute bewilderment that he 
felt literally as if his head would burst with the 
weight of so much mystery and with the knowledge 
of such dire infamy. 

“ I think that the scoundrel is cleverer than we 
thought, your Honor,” continued the petty con- 
stable, “ we must not allow him to escape.” 

“ I am quite bewildered,” murmured the Squire. 
“ What is the warrant for?” 


EDITHA’S RETURN 


379 


44 For the apprehension of the man whom the folk 
about here called the Prince of Orleans. I can set 
the watches on the go this very night, nay ! they 
shall scour the countryside to some purpose — the 
murderer cannot be very far, we know that he is 
dressed in the smith’s clothes, we’ll get him soon 
enough, but he may have friends. . . .” 

44 Friends? ” 

“ He may have been a real prince, your Honor,” 
said Pyot with a laugh, which contradicted his own 
suggestion. 

44 Aye ! aye ! . . . Mayhap ! ” 

44 He may have powerful friends ... or 
such as would resist the watches . . . resist 

us, mayhap ... a warrant would be use- 
ful. . . ” 

44 Aye ! aye ! you are right, constable,” said Boat- 
field, still a little bewildered, 44 do you come along 
to Sarre with me, I’ll give you a warrant this very 
night. Have you a horse here? ” 

44 Nay, your Honor,” rejoined the man, 44 an it 
please you, my going to Sarre would delay matters 
and the watches could not start their search this 
night.” 

44 Then what am I to do ? ” exclaimed the Squire, 
somewhat impatient of the whole thing now, long- 
ing to get away, and to forget, beside his own com- 
fortable fireside, all the harrowing excitement of 
this unforgetable day. 

44 Young Lambert is a bookworm, your Honor,” 
suggested Pyot, who was keen on the business, see- 


380 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


ing that his zeal, if accompanied by success, would 
surely mean promotion ; 44 there’ll be ink and paper 
in the cottage. . . . An your Honor would but 

write a few words and sign them, something I could 
show to a commanding officer, if perchance I needed 
the help of soldiery, or to the chief constable resi- 
dent at Dover, for methinks some of us must push 
on that way . . . your Honor must forgive 

we should be blamed— punished, mayhap — 
if we allowed such a scoundrel to remain un- 
hung. ...” 

44 As you will, man, as you will,” sighed the 
worthy Squire impatiently, 44 but wait ! ” he added, 
as Pyot, overjoyed, had already turned towards the 
cottage, 44 wait until Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse 
and the ladies have gone.” 

He called his serving men to him and ordered 
them to start on their way towards home, but to 
wait for him, with his cob, at the bend of the road, 
just in the rear of the little church. 

Some instinct, for which he could not rightly 
have accounted, roused in him the desire to keep 
his return to the cottage a secret from Sir Marma- 
duke. Attended by Pyot, he followed his men down 
the road, and the angle of the cottage soon hid him 
from view. 

De Chavasse in the meanwhile had ordered his 
own men to escort the ladies home. Busy and Too- 
good lighted their lanterns, whilst Sue and Editha, 
wrapping their cloaks and hoods closely round their 
heads and shoulders, prepared to follow them. 


EDITHA’S RETURN 381 

Anon the little procession began slowly to wind 
its way back towards Acol Court. 

Sir Marmaduke lingered behind for a while, of 
set purpose: he had no wish to walk beside either 
Editha or Lady Sue, so he took some time in mount- 
ing his nag, which had been tethered in the rear of 
the forge. His intention was to keep the men with 
the lanterns in sight, for — though there were no 
dangerous footpads in Thanet — yet Sir Marma- 
duke’s mood was not one that courted isolation on 
a dark and lonely road. 

Therefore, just before he saw the dim lights of 
the lanterns disappearing down the road, which at 
this point makes a sharp dip before rising abruptly 
once more on the outskirts of the wood, Sir Mar- 
maduke finally put his foot in the stirrup and 
started to follow. 

The mare had scarce gone a few paces before he 
saw the figure of a woman detaching itself from the 
little group on ahead, and then turning and walk- 
ing rapidly back towards the village. He could not 
immediately distinguish which of the two ladies it 
was, for the figure was totally hidden beneath the 
ample folds of cloak and hood, but soon as it ap- 
proached he perceived that it was Editha. 

He would have stopped her by barring the way, 
he even thought of dismounting, thinking mayhap 
that she had left something behind at the cottage, 
and cursing his men for allowing her to return 
alone: but quick as a flash of lightning she ran 


382 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWIC 


past him, dragging her hood closer over her face 
as .she ran. 

He hesitated for a few seconds, wondering what 
it all meant: he even turned the mare’s head round 
to see whither Editha was going. She had already 
reached the railing and gate in front of the cot- 
tage: the next moment she had lifted the latch, and 
Sir Marmaduke could see her blurred outline, 
through the rising mist, walking quickly along the 
flagged path, and then he heard her peremptory 
knock at the cottage door. 

He waited awhile, musing, checking the mare, 
who longed to be getting home. He fully expected 
to see Editha return within the next minute or so, 
for — vaguely through the fast-gathering gloom — 
he had perceived that someone had opened the door 
from within, a thin ray of yellowish light falling 
on Editha’s cloaked figure. Then she disappeared 
into the cottage. 

On ahead the swaying lights of the lanterns were 
rapidly becoming more and more undistinguishable 
in the distance. Apparently Editha’s departure 
from out the little group had not been noticed by 
the others. The men were ahead, and Sue mayhap 
was too deeply absorbed in thought to pay much 
heed as to what was going on round her. 

Sir Marmaduke still hesitated. J^ditha was not 
returning, and the cottage door 'was once more 
closed. Courtesy demanded that he' ^hould wait so 
as to escort her home. 

But the fact that she had gone back to the cot- 


EDITHA’S RETURN 


383 


tage, at risk of having to walk back all alone and 
along a dark and dreary road, bore a weird signifi- 
cance to this man’s tortuous mind. Editha, 
troubled with a mass of vague fears and horrible 
conjectures, had, mayhap, desired to have them set 
at rest, or else to hear their final and terrible con- 
firmation. 

In either case Marmaduke de Chavasse had no 
wish now for a slow amble homewards in company 
with the one being in the world who knew him for 
what he was. 

That thought and also the mad desire to get 
away at last, to cease with this fateful procrasti- 
nation and to fly from this country with the golden 
booty, which he had gained at such awful risks, 
these caused him finally to turn the mare’s head to- 
wards home, leaving Editha to follow as best she 
might in the company of one of the serving men 
whom he would send back to meet her. 

The mare was ready to go. He spurred her to 
a sharp trot. Then having joined the little group 
on ahead, he sent Master Courage Toogood back 
with his lantern, with orders to inquire at the cot- 
tage for Mistress de Chavasse and there to await 
her pleasure. 

He asked Lady Sue to mount behind him, but 
this she refused to do. So he put his nag back to 
foot pace, and thus the much diminished little party 
slowly walked back to Acol Court. 


CHAPTER XLI 


THEIR NAME 


HAT had prompted Editha de Chavasse to 



▼ * return thus alone ta the Quakeress’ cot- 
tage, she herself could not exactly have told. 

It must have been a passionate and irresistible 
desire to heap certainty onto a tangle of horrible 
surmises. 

With Adam Lambert lying dead — obviously mur- 
dered — and in the clothes affected by de Chavasse 
when masquerading as the French hero, there could 
be only one conclusion. But this to Editha — who 
throughout had given a helping hand in the man- 
agement of the monstrous comedy — was so awful 
a solution of the puzzle that she could not but re- 
coil from it, and strive to deny it while she had one 
sane thought left in her madly whirling brain. 

But though she fought against the conclusion 
with all her might, she did not succeed in driving 
it from her thoughts : and through it all there was 
a vein of uncertainty, that slender thread of hope 
that after all she might be the prey of some awful 
delusion, which a word from someone who really 
knew would anon easily dissipate. 

Someone who really knew? Nay! that someone 
could only be Marmaduke, and of him she dared : 
not ask questions. 


384 


THEIR NAME 


385 


Mayhap that on the other hand the old woman 
and Richard Lambert knew more than they had cared 
to say. Sue was indeed deeply absorbed in 
thoughts, walking with head bent and eyes fixed on 
the ground like a somnambulist. Editha, moved by 
unreasoning instinct, determined to see the Quak- 
eress again, also the man who now lay dead: hoping 
that from him mayhap she might glean the real 
solution of that mystery which sooner or later would 
undoubtedly drive her mad. 

Running rapidly past horse and rider, for she 
would not speak to Marmaduke, she reached the 
cottage soon enough. In response to her knock, 
Master Lambert opened the door to her. 

The dim light of a couple of tallow candles flick- 
ered weirdly in the draught*. Editha looked round 
her in amazement, astonished that — like herself — 
Squire Boatfield had also evidently retraced his 
steps and was sitting now in one of the high-backed 
chairs beside the hearth, whilst the old Quakeress 
stood not far from him, in attitude indicative of 
obstinacy,, even of defiance, in the face of a duty 
with which, apparently the Squire had been charg- 
ing her.. 

At sight of Mistress de Chavas.se, Boatfield rose. 
A look of annoyance crossed his face, at thought 
that Edithafs arrival had 1 hayhap endangered the 
success of his present purpose. Ink and paper 
were om the table close to his elbow, and it was 
obvious that he had been questioning the old woman 


386 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWR 


very closely on a subject which she apparently de- 
sired to keep .secret from him. 

Mistress Lambert’s attitude had also changed at 
sight of Editha, who stood for a moment undecided 
on the threshold ere she ventured within. The look 
of obstinacy died out of the wrinkled face ; the eyes 
took on a strange expression of sullen wrath. 

“ Enter, my fine lady, I pray thee, enter,” said 
the Quakeress ; “ art also a party to these cross- 
questionings ? . . . art anxious to probe the 

secrets which the old woman hath kept hidden 
within the walls of this cottage ? ” 

She laughed, a low, chuckling laugh, mirthless 
and almost cruel, as she surveyed Editha’s cloaked 
figure and then the lady’s scared and anxious face. 

“ Nay, I crave your pardon, mistress,” said 
Editha, feeling strangely timid before the strange 
personality of the Quakeress. “ I would of a truth 
desire to ask your help in ... in ... I 
would not intrude . . . and I . . .” 

“Nay! nay! prithee enter, fair mistress,” re- 
joined Mistress Lambert dryly. “ Strange, that I 
should hear thy words so plainly. . . . Thy 
words seem to find echo in my brain . . . rais- 
ing memories which thou hast buried long ago. 
. . . Enter, I prithee, and sit thee down,” she 

added, shuffling towards the chair ; “ shut the door, 
Dick lad . . . and ask this fair mistress to sit. 

. . . The Squire is asking many questions 
. . . mayhap that I’ll answer them, now that 
she is here. . . 


THEIR NAME 


387 

In obedience to the quaint peremptoriness of her 
manner, Richard had closed the outer door, and 
drawn the chair forward, asking Mistress de Cha- 
vasse to sit. Squire Boatfield, who was visibly em- 
barrassed, was still standing and tried to murmur 
some excuse, being obviously anxious to curtail this 
interview and to postpone his further questionings. 

“ I’ll come some other time, mistress,” he said 
with obvious nervousness. “ Mrs. de Chavasse de-' 
sires to speak with you, and I’ll return later on in 
the evening . . . when you are alone. . . 

“Nay! nay, man! . . .” rejoined the Quak- 
eress, “ prithee, sit again . . . the evening is 

young yet . . . and what I may tell thee now 

has something to do with this fine lady here. Wilt 
question me again? I would mayhap reply.” 

She stood close to the table, one wrinkled hand 
resting upon it; the guttering candles cast strange, 
fantastic lights on her old face, surmounted with 
the winged coif, and weird shadows down one side 
of her face. Editha, awed and subdued, gazed on 
her with a kind of fear, even of horror. 

In a dark corner of the little room the straight 
outline of the long deal box could only faintly be 
perceived in the gloom. Richard Lambert, silent 
and oppressed, stood close beside it, his face in 
shadow, his eyes fixed with a sense of unexplainable 
premonition on the face of Editha de Chavasse. 

“Now, wilt question me again, man?” asked the 
old Quakeress, turning to the Squire, “ the Lord 
hath willed that my ears be clear to-day. Wilt 


388 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


question me? . . . I’ll hear thee . . . and 
I’ll give answer to thy questions. . . 

44 Nay, mistress,” replied the Squire, pointing to 
the ink and the paper on the table, “ methought 
you would wish to see the murderer of your . . 

your nephew . . . swing on the gallows for his 

crime. ... I would sign this paper here or- 
dering the murderer of the smith of Acol to be ap- 
prehended as soon as found . . . and to be 
brought forthwith before the magistrate . . . 

there to give an account of his doings. ... I 
asked you then to give me the full Christian and 
surname of the man whom the neighborhood and I 
myself thought was your nephew . . . and to 
my surprise, you seemed to hesitate and . . .” 

44 And I’ll hesitate no longer,” she interposed 
firmly. 44 Let the lad there ask me his dead 
brother’s name and I’ll tell him. . . . I’ll tell 
him . . . if he asks . . .” 

“Justice must be done against Adam’s mur- 
derer, dear mistress,” said Richard gently, for the 
old woman had paused and turned to him, evidently 
waiting for him to speak. 44 My brother’s real 
name, his parentage, might explain the motive 
which led an evil-doer to commit such an appalling 
crime. Therefore, dear mistress, do I ask thee, to 
tell us my brother’s name, and mine own.” 

44 ’Tis well done, lad . . . ’tis well done,” 

she rejoined when Richard had ceased speaking, 
and silence had fallen for awhile on that tiny cot- 
tage parlor, 44 ’tis well done,” she reiterated. 64 The 


THEIR NAME 


389 


secret hath weighed heavily upon my old shoulders 
these past few years, since thou and Adam were no 
longer children. . . . But I swore to thy 
grandmother who died in the Lord, that thou and 
Adam should never hear of thy mother’s wantonness 
and shame. ... I swore it on her death-bed 
and I have kept my oath . . . but I am old 
now. . . . After this trouble mine hour will 
surely come. ... I am prepared but I will 
not take thy secret, lad, with me into my grave.” 

She shuffled across to the old oak dresser which 
occupied one wall of the little room. Two pairs of 
glowing eyes followed her every movement ; those 
of Richard Lambert, who seemed to see a vision of 
his destiny faintly outlined — still blurred — but 
slowly enfolding itself in the tangled web of fate ; 
and then those of Editha, who even as the old woman 
spoke had felt a tidal wave of long-forgotten memo- 
ries sweeping right over her senses. The look in the 
Quakeress’ eyes, the words she uttered — though still 
obscure and enigmatical — had already told her the 
whole truth. As in a flash she saw before her, her 
youth and all its follies, the gay life of thoughtless- 
ness and pleasures, the cradles of her children, the 
tiny boys who to the woman of fashion were but a 
hindrance and a burden. 

She saw her own mother, rigid and dour, the coun- 
terpart of this same old Puritan who had not hesi- 
tated to part two children from their mother for 
over a score of years, any more than she hesitated 
now to fling insult upon insult on the wretched 


390 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


woman who had more than paid her debt to her own 
careless frivolity of long ago. 

“ Thy brother’s name was Henry Adam de Cha- 
vasse, and thine Michael Richard de Chavasse, sons 
of Rowland de Chavasse, and of the wanton who was 
his wife.” 

The old woman had taken a packet of papers, 
yellow with age and stained with many tears, from 
out a secret drawer of the old oak dresser. 

Her voice was no longer tremulous as it was wont 
to be, but firm and dull, monotonous in tone like that 
of one who speaks whilst in a trance. Squire Boat- 
field had uttered an exclamation of boundless aston- 
ishment. Mechanically he took the packet of papers 
from the Quakeress’ hand and after an instant’s 
hesitation, and in response to an appealing look 
from Richard, he broke the string which held the 
documents together and perused them one by one. 

But Editha, even as the last of the old woman’s 
words ceased to echo in the narrow room, had risen 
to her feet. Her heavy cloak glided off her shoul- 
ders onto the ground, her eyes, preternaturally 
large, glowing and full of awe, were now fixed upon 
the young man — her son. 

De Chavasse,” she murmured, her brain whirl- 
ing, her heart filled not only with an awful terror, 
but also with a great and overwhelming joy. “My 
sons . . . then I am . . .” 

But with a peremptory gesture the Quakeress had 
stopped the word in her mouth. 

“ Nay ! ” she said loudly, “ do not pollute that sa- 


THEIR NAME 


391 


cred name by letting it pass through thy lips,. 
Women such as thou were not made for Mother- 
hood. . . . Thy own mother knew that when 

she took thy children from thee and cursed thee on 
her death-bed for thy sins and for thy shame! Thy 
sons were honest, God-fearing men, but ’tis no thanks 
to thee. Thou alone hast heaped shame upon their 
dead father’s name and hast contrived to wreak ruin 
on the sons who knew thee not.” 

The Quakeress paused a moment, her pale opaque 
eyes lighted with an inward glow of wrath and of 
satisfied vengeance. She and her dead friend and 
all their co-religionists had hated the woman, who, 
in defiance of her own Puritanic upbringing, had 
cast aside her friends and her home in order to throw 
herself in that vortex of pleasure, which her mother 
considered evil and infamous. 

Together they had all rejoiced over this woman’s 
subsequent humiliation, her sorrow and longing for 
her children, the ceaseless search, the ever recurrent 
disappointments. Now the Quakeress’ hour had 
come, hers and that of the whole of the dour sect 
who had taken it upon itself to punish and to 
avenge. 

Editha, shamed and miserable, not even daring 
now to approach her own son and to beg for affec- 
tion with a look, stood quite rigid and pale, allowing 
the torrent of the old woman’s pent-up hatred to 
fall upon her and to crush her with its rough cruelty. 

Squire Boatfield would have interposed. He had 
glanced at the various documents — the proofs of 


392 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 

what the old woman had asserted — and was satisfied 
that the horrible tale of what seemed ’to him un- 
paralleled cruelty was indeed true, and that the 
narrow bigotry of a community had succeeded in 
performing that monstrous crime of parting this 
wretched woman for twenty years from her sons. 

Vaguely in his mind, the kindly Squire hoped that 
he — as magistrate — could fitly punish this crime of 
child-stealing, and the expression with which he now 
regarded the old Quakeress was certainly not one of 
good-will. 

Mistress Lambert had, in the meanwhile, ap- 
proached Editha. She now took the younger 
woman’s hand in hers and dragged her towards the 
coffin. 

“ There lies one of thy sons,” she said with the 
same relentless energy, “ the eldest, who should have 
been thy pride, murdered in a dark spot by some 
skulking criminal. . . . Curse thee ! 

curse thee I say . . . as thy mother cursed thee 

on her death-bed . . . curse thee now that 

retribution has come at last ! ” 

Her words died away, as some mournful echo 
against these white-washed walls. 

For a moment she stood wrathful and defiant, 
upright and stem like a justiciary between the dead 
son and the miserable woman, who of a truth was 
suffering almost unendurable agony of mind and of 
heart. 

Then in the midst of the awesome silence that fol- 
lowed on that loudly spoken curse, there was the 


THEIR NAME 


393 


sound of a firm footstep on the rough deal floor, and 
the next moment Michael Richard de Chavasse was 
kneeling beside his mother, and covering her icy 
cold hand with kisses. 

A heart-broken moan escaped her throat. She 
stooped and with trembling lips gently touched the 
young head bent in simple love and uninquiring rev- 
erence before her. 

Then without a word, without a look cast either 
at her cruel enemy, or at the silent spectator of 
this terrible drama, she turned and ran rapidly out 
of the room, out into the dark and dismal night. 

With a deep sigh of content, Mistress Lambert 
fell on her knees and thence onto the floor. ... 

The old heart which had contained so much love 
and so much hatred, such stem self-sacrifice and such 
deadly revenge had ceased to beat, now the worker’s 
work was done. 


CHAPTER XLII 


THE RETURN 

M aster courage toogood had long 

ago given up all thought of waiting for the 
Mistress. He had knocked repeatedly at the door 
of the cottage, from behind the thick panels of which 
he had heard loud and — he thought — angry voices, 
speaking words which he could not, however, quite 
understand. 

No answer had come to his knocking and tired 
with the excitement of the day, fearful, too, at the 
thought of the lonely walk which now awaited him, 
he chose to believe that mayhap he had either mis- 
understood his master’s orders, or that Sir Marma- 
duke himself had been mistaken when he thought 
the Mistress back at the cottage. 

These surmises were vastly to Master Courage 
Toogood’s liking, whose name somewhat belied his 
timid personality. Swinging his lanthorn and striv" 
ing to keep up his spirits by the aid of a lusty 
song, he resolutely turned his steps towards home. 

The whole landscape seemed filled with eeriness : 
the events of the day had left their impress on this 
dark November night, causing the sighs of the gale 
to seem more spectral and weird than usual, and the 
dim outline of the trees with their branches turned 


394 


THE RETURN 


395 


away from the coastline, to seem like unhappy spirits 
with thin, gaunt arms stretched dejectedly out to- 
ward the unresponsive distance. 

Master Toogood tried not to think of ghosts, nor 
of the many stories of pixies and goblins which are 
said to take a malicious pleasure in the timorous- 
ness of mankind, but of a truth he nearly uttered a 
cry of terror, and would have fallen on his knees in 
the mud, when a dark object quite undistinguishable 
in the gloom suddenly loomed before him. 

Yet this was only the portly figure of Master 
Pyot, the petty constable, who seemed to be mount- 
ing guard just outside the cottage, and who was 
vastly amused at Toogood’s pusillanimity. He en- 
tered into converse with the young man — no doubt 
he, too, had been feeling somewhat lonely in the 
midst of this darkness, which was peopled with un- 
seen shadows. Master Courage was ready enough 
to talk. He had acquired some of Master Busy’s 
eloquence on the subject of secret investigations, and 
the mystery which had gained an intensity this 
afternoon, through the revelations of the old Quak- 
eress, was an all-engrossing one to all. 

The attention which Pyot vouchsafed to his nar- 
ration greatly enhanced Master Toogood’s own de- 
light therein, more especially as the petty constable 
had, as if instinctively, measured his steps with 
those of the younger man and was accompanying 
him on his way towards the Court. 

Courage told his attentive listener all about Mas- 
ter Busy’s surmises and his determination to probe 


396 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


the secrets of the mysterious crime, which — to be 
quite truthful — the worthy butler with the hard toes 
had scented long ere it was committed seeing that 
he used to spend long hours in vast discomfort in 
the forked branches of the old elms which surrounded 
the pavilion at the boundary of the park. 

Toogood had no notion if Master Busy had ever 
discovered anything of interest in the neighborhood 
of that pavilion, and he was quite, quite sure that 
the saintly man had never dared to venture inside 
that archaic building, which had the reputation of 
being haunted; still, he was over gratified to per- 
ceive that the petty constable was vastly interested 
in his tale — in spite of these obvious defects in its 
completeness — and that moreover Master Pyot 
showed no signs of turning on his heel, but con- 
tinued to trudge along the gloomy road in company 
of Sir Marmaduke’s youngest serving man. 

Thus Editha, when she ran out of Mistress Lam- 
bert’s cottage, her ears ringing with the fanatic’s 
curses, her heart breaking with the joy of that rev- 
erent filial kiss imprinted upon her hands, she found 
the road and the precincts of the cottage entirely 
deserted. 

The night was pitch dark after the rain. Great 
heavy clouds still hung above, and an icy blast 
caught her skirts as she lifted the latch of the gat& 
and turned into the open. 

But she cared little about the inclemency of the 
weather. She knew her way about well enough and 
her mind was too full of terrible thoughts of what 


THE RETURN 397 

was real, to yield to the subtle and feeble fears en- 
gendered by imaginings of the supernatural. 

Nay! she would mayhap have welcomed the pixies 
and goblins who by mischievous pranks had claimed 
her attention. They would of a truth have diverted 
her mind from the contemplation of that awful and 
monstrous deed accomplished by the man whom she 
would meet anon. 

If he whom the villagers had called Adam Lam- 
bert was her son, Henry Adam de Chavasse, then 
Sir Marmaduke was the murderer of her child. All 
the curses which the old Quakeress had so vengefully 
poured upon her were as nothing compared with 
that awful, that terrible fact. 

Her son had been murdered . . . her eldest 

son whom she had never known, and she — involun- 
tarily mayhap, compulsorily certes — had in a 
measure helped to bring about those events which 
had culminated in that appalling crime. 

She had known of Marmaduke’s monstrous fraud 
on the confiding girl whom he now so callously 
abandoned to her fate. She had known of it and 
helped him towards its success by luring her other 
son Richard to that vile gambling den where he had 
all but lost his honor, or else his reason. 

This knowledge and the help she had given was 
the real curse upon her now: a curse far more hor- 
rible and deadly than that which had driven Cain 
forth into the wilderness. This knowledge and the 
help she had given had stained her hands with the 
blood of her own child. 


398 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


No wonder that she sighed for ghouls and for 
shadowy monsters, well nigh longing for a sight of 
distorted faces of ugly deformed bodies, and loath- 
some shapes far less hideous than that specter of an 
inhuman homicide which followed her along this dark 
road as she ran — ran on — ran towards the home 
where dwelt the living monster of evil, the man who 
had done the deed, which she had helped to accom- 
plish. 

Complete darkness reigned all around her, she 
could not see a yard of the road in front of her, 
but she went on blindly, guided by instinct, led by 
that unseen shadow which was driving her on. All 
round her the gale was moaning in the creaking 
branches of the trees, branches which were like arms 
stretched forth in appeal towards the unattainable. 

Her progress was slow for she was walking in the 
very teeth of the hurricane, and her shoes ever and 
anon remained glued to the slimy mud. But the 
road was straight enough she knew it well, and she 
felt neither fatigue nor discomfort. 

Of Sue she did not think. The wrongs done to 
the defenseless girl were as nothing to her compared 
with the irreparable, the wrongs done to her sons, 
the living and the dead: for the one the foul dagger 
of an inhuman assassin, for the other shame and 
disgrace. 

Sue was young. Sue would soon forget. The 
girl-wife would soon regain her freedom. 

But what of the mother who had on her soul the 
taint of the murder of her child? 


THE RETURN 


399 


The gate leading to the Court from the road was 
wide open: it had been left so for her, no doubt, 
when Sir Marmaduke returned. The house itself 
was dark, no light save one pierced the interstices 
of the ill-fitting shutters. Editha paused a moment 
at the gate, looking at the house — a great black 
mass, blacker than the surrounding gloom. That 
had been her home for many years now, ever since 
her youth and sprightliness had vanished, and she 
had had nowhere to go for shelter. It had been 
her home ever since Richard, her youngest boy, had 
entered it, too, as a dependent. 

Oh! what an immeasurable fool she had been, how 
she had been tricked and fooled all these years by 
the man who two days ago had put a crown upon 
his own infamy. He knew where the boys were, he 
helped to keep them away from their mother, so as 
to filch from them their present, and above all fu- 
ture inheritance. How she loathed him now, and 
loathed herself for having allowed him to drag her 
down. Aye! of a truth he had wronged her worse 
even than he had wronged his brother’s sons! 

She fixed her eyes steadily on the one light which 
alone pierced the inky blackness of the solid mass 
of the house. It came from the little withdrawing- 
room, which was on the left of this entrance to the 
hall: but the place itself — beyond just that one 
tiny light — appeared quite silent and deserted. 
Even from the stableyard on her right and from the 
serving men’s quarters not a sound came to mingle 
with the weird whisperings of the wind. 


400 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


Edith a approached and stooping to the ground, 
she groped in the mud until her hands encountered 
two or three pebbles. 

She picked them up, then going close to the 
house, she threw these pebbles one by one against 
the half-closed shutter of the withdrawing-room. 

The next moment she heard the latch of the case- 
ment window being lifted from within, and anon the 
rickety shutter flew back with a thin creaking sound 
like that of an animal in pain. 

The upper part of Sir Marmaduke’s figure ap- 
peared in the window embrasure, like a dark and 
massive silhouette against the yellowish light from 
within. He stooped forward seeming to peer into 
the darkness. 

“ Is that you, Editha ? M he queried presently. 

“ Yes,” she replied. “ Open ! ” 

She then waited a moment or two, whilst he closed 
both the shutter and the window, she standing the 
while on the stone step before the portico. In the 
stillness she could hear him open the drawing-room 
door, then cross the hall and finally unbolt the heavy 
outer door. 

S*he pushed past him over the threshold and 
went into the gloomy hall, pitch dark save for the 
flickering light of the candle which he held. She 
w r aited until he had re-closed the door, then she stood 
quite still, confronting him, allowing him to look 
into her face, to read the expression of her eyes. 

In order to do this he had raised the candle, hi*s 
hand trembling perceptibly, and the feeble light 


THE RETURN 


401 


quivered in his grasp illumining her face at fitful 
intervals, creeping down her rigid shoulders and 
arms, as far as her hands, which were tightly 
clenched. It danced upon his face too, lighting it 
with weird gleams and fitful sparks, showing the 
wild look in his eyes, the glitter almost of madness 
in the dilated pupils, the dark iris sharply outlined 
against the glassy orbs. It licked the trembling 
lips and distorted mouth, the drawn nostrils and 
dank hair, almost alive with that nameless fear. 

44 You would denounce me? ” he murmured, and 
the cry — choked and toneless — could scarce rise 
from the dry parched throat. 

44 Yes ! ” she said. 

He uttered a violent curse. 

44 You devil . . . you . . .” 

44 You have time to go,” she said calmly, 44 ’tis a 
long while ’twixt now and dawn.” 

He understood. She only would denounce him if 
he stayed. She wished him no evil, only desired him 
out of her sight. He tried to say something flip- 
pant, something cruel and sneering, but she stopped 
him with a peremptory gesture. 

“ Go ! ” she said, 44 or I might forget everything 
save that you killed my son.” 

For a moment she thought that her life was in 
danger at his hands, so awful in its baffled rage 
was the expression of his face when he understood 
that indeed she knew everything. She even at that 
moment longed that his cruel instincts should 
prompt him to kill her. He could never succeed in 


402 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


hiding that crime and retributive justice would of 
a surety overtake him then, without any help from 
her. 

No doubt he, too, thought of this as the weird 
flicker of the candle-light showed him her unflinch- 
ing face, for the next moment, with another mut- 
tered curse, and a careless shrug of the shoulders, 
he turned on his heel, and slowly went upstairs, 
candle in hand. 

Editha watched him until his massive figure was 
merged in the gloom of the heavy oak stairway. 
Then she went into the withdrawing-room and 
waited. 


CHAPTER XLIII 


THE SANDS OF EPPLE 

T^IVE minutes later Sir Marmaduke de Chavas.se, 
clad in thick dark doublet and breeches and 
wearing a heavy cloak once more descended the 
stairs of Acol Court. He saw the light in the with- 
drawing-room and knew that Editha was there, 
mutely watching his departure. 

But he did not care to speak to her again. His 
mind had been quickly made up, nay! his actions 
in the immediate future should of a truth have been 
accomplished two days ago, ere the meddlesomeness 
of women had well-nigh jeopardized his own safety. 

All that he meant to do now was to go quickly 
to the pavilion, find the leather wallet then return 
to his own stableyard, saddle one of his nags and 
start forthwith for Dover. Eighteen miles would 
soon be covered, and though the night was dark, the 
road was straight and broad. De Chavasse knew 
it well, and had little fear of losing his way. 

With plenty of money in his purse, he would have 
no difficulty in chartering a boat which, with a favor- 
able tide on the morrow, should soon take him over 
to France. 

All that he ought to have done two days ago ! Of 
a truth he had been a cowardly fool. 

403 


404 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


He did not cross the hall this time but went out 
through the dining-room by the garden entrance. 
Not a glimmer of light came from above, but as he 
descended the few stone steps he felt that a few 
soft flakes of snow tossed by the hurricane were be- 
ginning to fall. Of course he knew every inch of his 
own garden and park and had oft wandered about 
on the further side of the ha-ha whilst indulging in 
lengthy sweetly-spoken farewells with his love-sick 
Sue. 

Absorbed in the thoughts of his immediate future 
plans, he nevertheless walked along cautiously, for 
the paths had become slippery with the snow, which 
froze quickly even as it fell. 

He did not pause, however, for he wished to lose 
no time. If he was to ride to Dover this night, he 
would have to go at foot-pace, for the road would 
be like glass if this snow and ice continued. More- 
over he was burning to feel that wallet once more 
between his fingers and to hear the welcome sound 
of the crushing of crisp papers. 

He had plunged resolutely into the thickness of 
the wood. Here he could have gone blindfolded, so 
oft had he trodden this path which leads under the 
overhanging elms straight to the pavilion, walking 
with Sue’s little hand held tightly clasped in his 
own. 

The spiritual presence of the young girl seemed 
even now to pervade the thicket, her sweet fragrance 
to fill the frost-laden air. 


THE SANDS OF EPPLE 


405 


Bah ! he was not the man to indulge in retro- 
spective fancy. The girl was naught to him, and 
there was no sense of remorse in his soul for the ter- 
rible wrongs which he had inflicted on her. All that 
he thought of now was the wallet which contained 
the fortune. That which would forever compensate 
him for the agony, the madness of the past two days. 

The bend behind that last group of elms should 
now reveal the outline of the pavilion. Sir Mar- 
maduke advanced more cautiously, for the trees here 
were very close together. 

The next moment he had paused, crouching sud- 
denly like a carnivorous beast, balked of its prey. 
There of a truth was the pavilion, but on these steps 
three men were standing, talking volubly and in 
whispers. Two of these men carried stable lanthoms, 
and were obviously guiding their companion up to 
the door of the pavilion. 

The light of the lan thorns illumined one face 
after another. De Chavasse recognized his two 
serving men, Busy and Toogood ; the man who was 
with them was petty-constable Pyot. Marmaduke 
with both hands clutching the ivy which clung round 
the gnarled stem of an old elm, watched from out the 
darkness what these three men were doing here, be- 
side this pavilion, which had always been so lonely 
and deserted. 

He could not distinguish what they said for they 
spoke in whispers and the creaking branches groan- 
ing beneath the wind drowned every sound which 


406 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


came from the direction of the pavilion and the 
listener on the watch, straining his every sense in 
order to hear, dared not creep any closer lest he be 
perceived. 

Anon the three men examined the door of the 
pavilion, and shaking the rusty bolts, found that 
they would not yield. But evidently they were of 
set purpose, for the next moment all three put their 
shoulder to the worm-eaten woodwork, and after the 
third vigorous effort the door yielded to their as- 
sault. 

Men and lanthoms disappeared within the pa- 
vilion. Sir Marmaduke heard an ejaculation of sur- 
prise, then one of profound satisfaction. 

For the space of a few seconds he remained rooted 
to the spot. It almost seemed to him as if with the 
knowledge that the wallet and the discarded clothes 
of the smith had been found, with the certitude that 
this discovery meant his own undoing probably, and 
in any case the final loss of the fortune for which 
he had plotted and planned, lied and masqueraded, 
killed a man and cheated a girl, that with the knowl- 
edge of all this, death descended upon him : so cold 
did he feel, so unable was he to make the slightest 
movement. 

But this numbness only lasted a few seconds. Ob- 
viously the three men would return in a minute or 
so: equally obviously his awn presence here — if dis- 
covered — would mean certain ruin to him. Even 
while he was making the effort to collect his scattered 
senses and to move from this fateful and dangerous 


THE SANDS OF EPPLE 407 

spot, he saw the three men re-appear in the door- 
way of the pavilion. 

The breeches and rough shirt of the smith hung 
over the arm of Hymn of Praise Busy; the dark 
stain on the shirt was plainly visible by the light of 
one of the lanthorns. 

Petty constable Pyot had the leather wallet in 
his hand, and was peeping down with grave curi- 
osity at the bundle of papers which it contained. 

Then with infinite caution, Marmaduke de Cha- 
vasse worked his way between the trees towards the 
old wall which encircled his park. The three men 
obviously would be going back either to Acol Court, 
or mayhap straight to the village. 

Sir Marmaduke knew of a gap in the wall which 
it was quite easy to climb, even in the dark; a path 
through the thicket at that point led straight out 
towards the coast. 

He had struck that path from the road on the 
night when he met the smith on the cliffs. 

The snow only penetrated in sparse flakes to the 
thicket here. Although the branches of the trees 
were dead, they interlaced so closely overhead that 
they formed ample protection against the wet. 

But the fury of the gale seemed terrific amongst 
these trees and the groaning of the branches seemed 
like weird cries proceeding from hell. 

Anon the midnight walker reached the open. Here 
a carpet of coarse grass peeping through the thin 
layer of snow gave insecure foothold. He stumbled 
as he pursued his way. He was walking in the teeth 


408 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


of the northwesterly blast now and he could scarcely 
breathe, for the great gusts caught his throat causing 
him to choke. 

Still he walked resolutely on. Icy moisture clung 
to his hair, and to his lips, and soon he could taste 
the brine in the air. The sound of the breakers 
some ninety feet below mingled weirdly with the 
groans of the wind. 

He knew the path well. Had he not trodden it 
three nights ago, on his way to meet the smith? 
Already in the gloom he could distinguish the broken 
line of the cliffs sharply defined against the gray 
density of the horizon. 

As he drew nearer the roar of the breakers be- 
came almost deafening. A heavy sea was rolling in 
on the breast of the tide. 

Still he walked along, towards the brow of the 
cliffs. Soon he could distinguish the irregular heap 
of chalk against which Adam had stood, whilst he 
had held the lanthorn in one hand and gripped the 
knife in the other. 

The hurricane nearly swept him off his feet. He 
had much ado to steady himself against that heap 
of chalk. The snow had covered his cloak and his 

hat, and he liked to think that he, too, now .snow- 

covered- — must look like a monstrous chalk boulder, 
weird and motionless outlined against the leaden 
grayness of the ocean beyond. 

The smith was not by his side now. There was 
no lanthorn, no paper, no double-edged dagger. 


* 


THE SANDS OF EPPLE 


409 


Down nearly a hundred feet below the smith had lain 
until the turn of the tide. The man’s eyes, becoming 
accustomed to the gloom, could distinguish the 
points of the great boulders springing boldly from 
out the sand. The surf as it broke all round and 
over them was tipped with a phosphorescent light. 

The gale, in sheer wantonness, caught the mid- 
night prowler’s hat and with a wild sound as the 
detonation of an hundred guns tossed it to the waves 
below. The snow in a few moments had thrown a 
white pall over the watcher’s head. 

He could see quite clearly the tall boulder un- 
touched by the tide, on which he had placed the 
black silk shade that night, also the broad-brimmed 
hat, so that these things should be found high and 
dry and be easily recognizable. 

Some twenty feet further on was the smooth 
stretch of sand where had lain the smith, after he 
had been dressed up in the fantastic clothes of the 
mysterious French prince. 

Marmaduke de Chavasse gazed upon that spot. 
The breakers licked it now and again, leaving be- 
hind them as they retreated a track of slimy foam, 
which showed white in this .strange gray gloom, ren- 
dered alive and moving by the falling snow. 

The surf covered that stretch of sand more and 
more frequently now, and retreated less and less far: 
the slimy foam floated now over an inky pool, soon 
that too disappeared. The breakers sought other 
boulders round which to play their titanic hide and 


410 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


seek. The tide had completely hidden the place 
where Adam Lambert had lain. 

Then the watcher walked on — one step and then 
another — and then the one beyond the edge as he 
stepped down, down into the abyss ninety feet be- 
low. 







THE EPILOGUE 


rpHE chronicles of the time tell us that the mys- 
terious disappearance of Sir Marmaduke de 
Chavasse was but a nine days’ wonder in that great 
world which lies beyond the boundaries of sea-grit 
Thanet. 

What Thanet thought of it all, the little island 
kept secret, hiding its surmises in the thicket of her 
own archaic forests. 

Squire Boatfield did his best to wrap the disap- 
pearance of his whilom friend in impenetrable veils 
of mystery. He was a humane and a kindly man 
and feeling that the guilty had been amply punished 
he set to work to cheer and to rehabilitate the inno- 
cent. 

All of us who have read the memoirs of Editha 
de Chavasse, written when she was a woman of 
nearly sixty, remember that she, too, has drawn a 
thick cUftain over the latter days of her brother- 
in-law’s life. It is to her pen that we owe the record 
of what happened subsequently. 

She tells us, for instance, how Master Skyffing-' 
ton, after sundry interviews with my lord North- 
allerton, had the honor of bringing to his lordship’s 
notice the young student — so long known as Rich- 
ard Lambert — who of a truth was sole heir to the 
earldom and to its magnificent possessions and de- 
pendencies. 


411 


412 NEST OF THE SPARROWHAWK 


From the memoirs of Editha de Chavasse we also 
know that Lady Sue Aldmarshe, girl-wife and 
widow, did after a period of mourning marry 
Michael Richard de Chavasse, sole surviving nephew 
and heir presumptive of his lordship the Earl of 
Northallerton. 

But it is to the brush of Sir Peter Lely that we 
owe that exquisite portrait of Sue, when she was 
Countess of Northallerton, the friend of Queen 
Catherine, the acknowledged beauty at the Court of 
the Restoration. 

It is a sweet face, whereon the half-obliterated 
lines of sorrow vie with that look of supreme happi- 
ness which first crept into her eyes when she realized 
that the dear and constant friend who had loved her 
so dearly, was as true to her in his joy as he had 
been in those dark days when a terrible crisis had 
well-nigh wrecked her life. 

Lord and Lady Northallerton did not often stay 
in London. The brilliance of the Court had few 
attractions for them. Happiness came to them after 
terrible sorrows. They liked to hide it and their 
great love in the calm and mystery of forest-covered! 
Thanet. 


THE END 






> 


kV 



o o %.■ ■>>$: wyT * v 5 '''S' "* iXm 

, ^ ^ # \ OWv* ./ y *,5®B 

. llf , \ V'”“° 

A v S ^ ^ <J ■> r^NV ^ ^ , 

« N' &'W ' /'??• -f x. a 5 a\ ’ ,•%,. S -A 

*. /gPfl l/yy^ > .v* V ~ ^SJnv l x’s / 

iOO, 


„* )> 0 . 

v ^ ° 

2 aV </> Z 

* ^ oV 5 ^ % 

•V „ Cfrv 4 *5 C> ■* ,r y x 

' A ,)| %■ y 0 * * * A 0 K f C 

-f -J> 0 ° * ^ 

* ^ r *S . y " 

■’bo' 

>° ^ ■%- •* , „ 

x* A <%> ‘ 7 > .o’ C o, ' 

r « Si ♦. . .A v <&£!$$*>. * 










A 




■< V>^_ .V 

o o 



* . . ^ °* x i u .orc.V 

- >, 

c ^ r *?• 

* v 0 O. 

* * ' 'WSS* > ^ * 

> rP C> * „o^ c#, a- 

* 0 N 0 > 8 M # 

V ^ > J 

' " * * - «. <^ 

V 



|W“ & <-> 0 

K o ^ ^ 

^ ' A A, 




»A,V ^ < 

z ’ Z 

° AV ' ,J ^-v ° 

* v' u 

v c»* 

S S N A O r ^0 

■& sSl*i"°c o 0 ' . 

-o 0 < » 

>- 





. 8 * 



° 05 ^ 

, 3 H o 0 x ^ v <£* * • n * -f 0 s » , , * o N 

A' A ^ jA^^A r <& * - N/> 

c aX^' ° ^ //M\\y _ 

* .r/ ' ^ 'sy$*f s - a a % 0 » x *■* a 

'"‘ ^V_ 1 ^, % 0 ^ A 

w ° 

<* 

4^ 


° o 5 ^ "■ 

x - - - -, , U vr ^ A AA * 

<y r t*' t ^ZA v ' ^ />*} ^ <* O * r^ 

. ^ .A° '.'^L", ^ v' .-"0, > 

aJ» ' 

^ , A * 






J N u 


V 9 - * * o 







\ 


-0* C 0 N c * 



6 : ^ o< ; - 

\° / •*+ - 

<r •> ' * c_-^ yy / i/jas? ^ 

wa\ %<? * 

l\ 



<y* s s * o / ^ 

.* 0 .vW, ® 

« ^ “ *» 

o <\V ,J > n 

* ^ ^ * v* ^ 

‘* , >'\«’ i ;s o V 0 *' k > 0 V~% < 

^ ^ A N *> ^ \ * 

* * C) o' 

Oo, * * « . 

> \v- «y. ^kZZ/Pu^W ' 

i vj cj ~ >, ^ * a'f ‘ 4- - '>• 

A c * * g ^ * 5 - 0 ' ♦m 4 » 

3 * -> O 

'</>- A V * - ^ 


\ uc ^. 



s * , , ^ * .0 H 0 ’ 

5 ^ v *:*» 




w , „„ xvr • A <£. 
a VJf&W' * v> ^ 

, . <?•• * ^ » -i -a v > 

**V' %'‘* x \*° * •* 


o 



vx V 

OCT 




A* s S * * ^ ^ 3 N 0 



r > 
<r -<p 



y> y 0 * A A 0 

9 d r0‘ c 0 N 


* ^ ^ 

* r * 

* ,0 o. 

^ ^z^yy/iu^ *** a ✓ 

^ %. %ty*^-o° ' °o/%, 0 , 

V X »^*o, -> /.-'"-^c, aN ° ,,' 

- v # *Wa. V «e- c* * 

^ <r * i}, Sjh ° *» 

" A A - * 

* *$> 

-A o V <?' 



v V </> 


<& *< 






‘./^ '**'V A ,* 1 '*' %/“’ ^ 0 ^ ON ° ^ 

^ ' ,!^ V -» <_ t rU * 

• v ^ ^ a x ^ jKfl 22 & 7 + 0 ^ 

<i ~ -/A\ ■< 






>- 

' VMV'vXO > {< ' 

fx*' ^ $ o l r^ 4- 

\0 Cv* Ar ^ O.V 

i 9 <i y* .0 fsl 0 ' \ V %** 

^ sm»:' \ . v V^°'- ~ ^°i 

, ■%, c,% c 

t ? 2 




^ ^ °- 

^ " " ,# X V * V '* k 1 " c 0^’ C 0 N c ♦ ^ 

>^. . \ s> S'/rf??-, * 0 * ^s5X\. v. y ^ 

'V 0 > *. ^ \\ -is C x 

°o' r»w 

^ ° ^ct. - «**5 

> \V- ^ rf. 

3 ' 1 „,\\«* , ‘/‘,., V* 

v s /r^J '■/ V v ^ ^ ,n v s 

^ ^ . a-Jv 




* * s a\ 


v I 




% ^ 


\° ^ 





* £ 1 $ << 

y 0 > K* ^ <\ ^TXT' N A 

^Or c 0 N f ' « <S> A X x 

o ^ ^ 

'"<= o'* : vjfm '. ^ > - 

$ ^ \^§B' 

> " 1 ' o’> s’ ^ 'o 

r .A' ' '^U. 


; ^ ^ " 
z v V 

2 


A ^ -«^ ° 



C‘ 


^ ,^ v 


■ V 


f 






x 00 ^. 


£V> 


-O o' « £ 

■ 

vs^fi gy 


V y^hfltr&yQ 

<K 4 

- L ^l/ W -V 

^ * 0 A "> 

^ 8 , A * 

sS^T'o 

A 



